


Spin Dry On High

by ThePlace



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Rated T for language, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, other characters appear but are not main characters, other tags may be added later but nothing major
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlace/pseuds/ThePlace
Summary: Due to a broken part on the Lodge's laundry unit, Barclay will be trekking down to the local laundromat every Sunday for the next twelve weeks. Due to a polite offer though, Barclay will also be making that trek with Agent Stern. How he feels about this changes with every load of laundry.





	1. Twelve Sundays of Stern

**Author's Note:**

> Well, first sternclay fic so let's see how this goes! I've been wanting to write for them for a while now and I've already had a lot of fun writing what little I have, so I'm excited for the rest! Also this is super non-canon compliant. The entire fourth arc just didn't happen in this fic. The bom-bom came and was killed with little fanfare and that's all you gotta know
> 
> Also as always, this is rated T for language and I don't see the rating changing from what I've planned out. Enjoy!

As Barclay heaves the bag of laundry out of his truck and over his shoulder, the cold February wind nipping at his neck, he shoots a tired look at the Laundromat before trudging inside.

Three months. Three whole months to get the part for the Lodge’s broken washing machine. He’s almost tempted to convince Mama that they should just buy a new one all together, but he already knows how that conversation would go. No need to go ‘round wasting all that money when everybody can just pop down to the local laundromat in the meantime. 

The bell above the door gives off a slight chime, the sound mixing in with the grainy music sputtering out from the speakers around the room, but the other folk inside don’t pay it any mind. For a Sunday evening, Barclay expected a bit more business in here. There’s an elderly woman dozing off in one of the hard plastic chairs near the washing machines, a couple of children entertaining themselves with coloring books while their father packs up his laundry and finally, a man with his back to Barclay as he loads his clothes into one of the dryers.

As for himself, Barclay picks a machine a few down from the other customers and starts putting his first load into the top washer so he doesn’t have to awkwardly squat. God this is gonna be a long evening.

“Barclay?”

Pausing with a pair of socks still in hand, he looks over to see none other than Agent Stern at a nearby dryer, dressed in what he probably thinks is a ‘casual look’. His usual suit jacket and tie are gone, but the white button up, slacks, and dress shoes remain. Hell, Barclay even catches a glimpse of his silver cufflinks cause that’s  _ definitely _ something people usually wear to the laundromat.

“Ah agent, didn’t imagine seein’ you here. Thought most of your stuff would be, I don’t know, dry-clean only?”

“Unfortunately that is true of my suit jackets, but everything else I can take care of here.” He shuts the dryer lid and starts fiddling with the dials. “What about you? Doesn’t the Lodge have a laundry unit?”

“It does, or well-” He grimaces. “Did, I suppose. Washer broke this morning and we can’t get the part it needs for a couple of months. So for the moment at least, this is what we’ve got.”

He goes back to loading his laundry in the silence that follows and Stern seems content to do the same. This goes on for a minute until Barclay lets out a groan.

“Something the matter?” 

“Didn’t bring enough quarters.” Once again he counts the coins in his hand. Yep two short if he wants to both wash and dry his clothes and the smallest bill he’s got on him is a twenty. If they hadn’t taken out an abomination just two days ago, Barclay would be half-inclined to think there was some new monster going around stealing his luck cause damn this really wasn’t his day. Just as he’s ready to admit to defeat and just go home, clean clothes be damned, a hand suddenly comes into his line of sight holding four shiny quarters.

“Wha-” he looks up to see Agent Stern standing next to him.

“Here,” he offers, a small smile on his face. “I always bring extras.”

On reflex, Barclay opens his mouth to politely decline, but then thinks about how he really doesn’t want to go around with eighty quarters in his pocket all day if he breaks his twenty using the Laundromat’s change machine.

Gingerly, he takes two coins from Stern’s hand. “Thanks. I’ll uh, I’ll pay you back.”

Stern chuckles. “It’s fifty cents, I think I’ll survive without them.”

And then Stern walks over to a nearby chair, his peacoat already draped across the back, and pulls out a newspaper and pencil as he begins to scan today’s crossword puzzle.

Once the machine starts up, Barclay finds a seat and pulls out a book he brought, half expecting the next thirty minutes to be filled with Stern asking him awkward questions about whether or not he’s seen Bigfoot in the woods lately. In reality Stern just keeps to himself. He occasionally makes little humming noises or taps his pencil against his leg when he gets stuck on his puzzle, but that’s the short and quick of it.

Eventually, Barclay’s timer goes off and as he stands to go unload it, he just catches Stern glance up at him before returning his gaze to his crossword. “So ah, will you be doing laundry here every Sunday?” 

Barclay nods. “For the next three months unless the part I need magically appears out of the sky.”

“Well,” Stern starts, his voice light as his pencil scritches away on his paper. “Since I will be too, we could drive here together if you’d like? Save on gas and all that.”

A part of Barclay wants to say no off the bat. He barely even knows the guy and that usually doesn’t bode well for even the shortest of car trips, and that’s not even getting into the fact that being in a confined space with a FBI agent could get just a touch awkward. However, he can’t think of a legitimate reason to say no and also . . . Well it is a kind offer. Which isn’t surprising truth be told.

It's been six months since Stern arrived at Amnesty Lodge and the entire time, he’s been nothing but a picture perfect guest. Barclay almost wishes he wasn’t. If he was rude and loud and a slob, they’d have every right to kick him out and then everyone could sleep easier knowing a cryptid hunter wasn’t in the next room over. But no. He keeps to himself, says please and thank you on the few requests he ever makes and never fails to compliment Barclay on his cooking. And although Barclay’s never seen inside of his room, he feels safe to assume he keeps it tidy based on how meticulous he is at not leaving any crumbs at his table after he eats.

All of which means that more likely than not, Stern’s offer isn’t some ploy to get more information about Kepler and the weirdness that surrounds it out of Barclay, but a nice and simple gesture from someone who is genuinely just trying to be friendly.

So with that in mind, Barclay shrugs. “Sure, that’s uh, that sounds great. Thanks.”

The smile Stern shoots back is subtly surprised, but still happy. “My pleasure.”

And as Barclay turns back to his machine, there’s only one thought going through his head. Twelve Sundays. Twelves Sundays of doing laundry with  _ Agent Stern _ . Twelve Sundays of uncomfortable car rides. Twelve Sundays of awkward small talk. Twelve Sundays of  _ this _ .

Closing the lid to the dryer, Barclay turns the dial to tumble dry on high before pressing start and stealing a glance to Agent Stern just as he finishes his crossword puzzle, a proud unguarded smile on his face.

Barclay lets out a nearly inaudible sigh and goes to sit back down.

He’s survived worse than twelve Sundays of Stern.


	2. Eleven Audiobooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A FBI agent and Bigfoot carpool to the laundromat. Barclay can't decide if this is the begining of a joke, a horror movie or maybe even possibly a friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place March the 3rd and as always, this isn't really important. Hope you all enjoy!!

Sunday rolls around far faster that Barclay thought possible and he now finds himself sat in Agent Stern’s passenger seat, his knees practically pressed to his chest. Hell he had hoped that with Stern ringing in at about an inch taller than himself that he would have his seats set to give ample leg room. But no. Stern decided to keep his passenger seat situated so that whoever has the misfortune to sit there feels like they’re sat on a bus directly over a wheel well.

And unfortunately, that misfortune is currently falling on Barclay as he tries to fold himself into the cramped space.

“I have some cds in the glovebox there if you want to listen to something?” Stern comments as he slides into the driver's seat. “Though I will warn you that most of them are audiobooks.”

“Good to know,” he mumbles out as he blindly feels around for the seat lever, audibly sighing when he finally finds it and his seat mercifully slides back.

As Stern adjusts his mirrors, he spares a quick glance over to Barclay. “Oh, sorry about that. Been a while since I had passengers.”

All he gets in return is a quiet, “Ah,” before both men are silent. 

“If you buckle up we’ll head out.” Stern states, giving a pointed look at his seatbelt. “Unless there’s anything else you need before we leave?”

“Ah shit, yeah. I mean, no I don’t need anything else, but yeah I’ll buckle up and-” Barclay stops himself from saying anything else, reaching to his right and quickly tugging on the strap. It moves half an inch before locking in to place. Another tug. Nothing. Another. Absolutely nothing.

“Do you need help?” 

“No,” Barclay rumbles as he jerks the seatbelt again. “Just- Dammit. Give me a sec.”

He can just barely make out Stern’s reflection in the window, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth straight and thin. “I think you have to let it go slack.”

“I am letting it go slack”

“Obviously not.”

“Maybe it’s busted.”

“It’s not broken.”

“How would you know?”

“I would know.”

“You just said no one’s sat here in a while.”

And then without warning, the seat belt gives and the strap comes flying forward, Barclay barely missing hitting himself in the face. The sharp click of the seat belt snapping into place shuts both of them up, the quiet rumble of the engine the only sound reverberating around the car. Silently, Stern pulls out of the parking spot with a practised precision and then they’re off.

Oh this is gonna go great. 

As they drive away from Amnesty Lodge, Barclay’s brain scrambles for something to talk about but comes up empty. Hell he’s seen puddles deeper than the depth of knowledge he has on the Agent. Let’s see, his last name is Stern. Well, he’s pretty sure his last name is Stern. Using your first name like that would be weird right? Right. Anyways, he definitely works for the FBI to try and find Bigfoot. He likes his pancakes with sugar and lemon juice on top instead of maple syrup and . . . That’s it. That’s all he’s got to work with and to be honest, Barclay doesn’t think he can fill up a ten minute car ride with talk about pancake preferences. Shit maybe he can’t survive twelve sundays of this? 

In a desperate attempt to cut the tension currently stifling every breath he takes, Barclay opens up the glovebox and starts rooting through Stern’s CD collection.

“You weren’t kidding about these all being audiobooks, huh?”

Out of the eleven cases he counts, all of them are audiobooks. There’s a few biographies, a couple murder mysteries, one on the history of medicine, another that looks like a self-help book from the art on the cover and to the shock of absolutely no one, quite a few on cryptids. While some appear to be about cryptids in general, others are more specific, with titles like ‘Seeing The Light: The Truth About Mothman’ and ‘Bigfoot: The Big Man. The Big Myth. The Big Legend.’.

He quickly shoves those back in the glovebox.

Stern doesn’t reply for a second, focused on the intersection before them. “You know, now that I think about it, I might have left all my music in my room. I’ll make sure to move a few of them over for next week.”

“Great.” Barclay looks out the window, watching the trees pass by in a blur of color. “Sounds great.”

They do not talk the rest of the car ride.

Infact, barring a quiet “Thanks” from Barclay when Stern holds the Laundromat door open, they both load their laundry in to the washing machines without another word.

It’s not a comfortable quiet. Not the type of familiar silence you slip into like a warm bath with someone you’ve known for so long that words aren’t even necessary. No, the silence he currently finds himself in is more like wearing sopping wet pants: Uncomfortable, noticeable, and he would like out of it sooner rather than later because the longer he’s in it, the harder it will be to wriggle out of it.

Luckily, as he takes a seat, the plastic creaking underneath him, Barclay knows he can easily ignore the awkward silence with the book he brought along. Besides, Stern’s already busying himself with his crossword, so it's not like he’s gonna want to talk anyways. Rummaging through his satchel, Barclay starts thinking about what he’s going to do for the ride home. It would be rude to read while Stern’s driving, right? Eh, he’ll figure it out later, but for now, he’s just at the good part in his . . .

. . . His book. It's not in his satchel. He tries to think back and- Shit he remembers putting it on his bed to bring and then just leaving it there. Seriously, first his coins and now his book? This laundromats fucking cursed and Barclay won’t listen to anyone who says otherwise. 

Now not only is he going to have to wait to find out what happens next, but that was literally the Only thing he had planned to entertain himself with, so he’s either gonna have to get used to watching his sheets spin ‘round for the next hour and a half or . . . .

Barclay sighs.

“So audiobooks huh?”

It takes Stern a second to glance up from his paper. “Pardon?”

“You uh, you like audiobooks? Right?” Barclay tries to stop himself from grimacing as his mouth continues talking despite his brain having no idea what to say next. “Cause of all the cds in your car?”

“Oh yes, they make long car trips a bit more bearable.” Stern fully folds up his newspaper and tucks his pencil behind his ear. “I learned rather quickly that I can’t rely on radio stations, something I’m sure you’re all too familiar with living in Kepler, so I turned to audiobooks. I’ve listened to all the ones I have a few times over now though.”

Okay so not a terrible start. Barclay half thought that all he’d get out of Stern was a curt response no longer than the four letter word he’d been mulling over on in his crossword puzzle. This he can work with. “Do you have to drive far often?”

He nods. “My work takes me many places across the United States. I actually had to make the drive from Texas to come up here, before that was Oregon, and before that-” He smiles. “Well you get the picture.”

“Seems like it’d be easier to just fly, or is that not in the FBI’s budget?”

Barclay just catches a slight flush underneath Stern’s collar before he shifts and it disappears. “Ah yes, I don’t um, don’t particularly enjoy flying truth be told.”

Letting out a short laugh, he quickly adds on before Stern has time to misinterpret that, “Truth be told, neither do I.”

“Really?”

Barclay nods. “I’ve never even gotten on an airplane, being that high up, with all those people, nowhere to go if something goes wrong . . .” A minute shudder runs down his spine and he takes in a steadying breath. Now has Barclay always been afraid of heights? Certainly. There was a bell tower near his house in Sylvain and no matter how many times his friends told him how beautiful the view was at the top, Barclay was not going up there. No way. No thank you. Not gonna happen. It made his feet tingle and his stomach drop to even think of it. However, does the idea of his bracelet somehow coming off mid-flight play into his fear of airplanes? Well . . . Yeah. Of course. 

He just won’t mention that part.

“Thank you!” Stern’s voice comes off a mixture of agreement and relief and for a second, Barclay thinks his pencil is going to fall to the ground. “Whenever my coworkers find out about my aversion to flying, they start citing off the statistics of airplanes at me. As if I haven’t heard it a million times before.”

“I got a friend like that. Loves heights, loves flying even more. Thought he could talk me outta my fear by spouting off the probabilities of me falling to my death. Learned real quick that stuff like that wasn’t gonna work on me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he can dish it out but he can’t take it. He’s afraid of spiders and I told him plain and simple that if me saying the probabilities of him getting killed by a spider wasn’t gonna help him, same was true for me and airplanes. That made him stop real quick” Barclay chuckles lightly at the memory. “He’s a good guy though, don’t get me wrong.”

It’s Stern’s turn to laugh. “Ah, so nothing like my coworkers then.”

Barclay has barely furrowed his brow before Stern moves the conversation right along, his comment passing by and forgotten like a road sign on a long drive. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was that book you were reading last week? The cover looked rather interesting.”

And that’s the start of how Barclay ends up leaving the laundromat with a bag of clean sheets, two book recommendations, a promise from Stern to lend him a novel he’s been wanting to read and just the vaguest hint of anticipation for next Sunday.

Don’t get him wrong, there are still awkward pauses and fumbled words and averted looks as both men silently hope the other will pick up where the conversation left off. It’s not like they’re making friendship bracelets for each other or anything. If he wants these laundromat visits to be anything more than filling time with basically a stranger, it will take work. But Barclay will admit, talking with Stern is . . . Nice? 

Yeah. 

It’s nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly the constant fight between 'Desire for a semi-realistic development of Stern and Barclay's relationship' and 'I want them to already be dating' is one I'm battling with every chapter. Anyways, thanks for reading and thanks for all the lovely comments on the last chapter!! Still don't have an update schedule cause how I do these is before I post chapter 2 I need to have chapter 3 already written and so on and so forth. But I'm also really excited to write chapter 4, so hopefully chapter 3 will be coming out soon.
> 
> Also coming up with fake titles for cryptid books was honestly amazing


	3. Ten Minute Car Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay is pretty sure that the kinds of questions that stop a friendship before it even starts normally don't involve whether or not one person is going to shoot Bigfoot in the face, but then again, Barclay rarely has the luxury of normalcy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy chapter three! This one takes place March the 10th

Barclay has a problem.

A problem he never imagined having.

A problem involving a certain FBI agent currently waiting for him in the lodge lobby.

Now not even a month ago, Barclay having a problem involving Agent Stern would have spelled disaster. It would have most likely meant that he had finally figured out Amnesty’s secrets. That there was a squad of FBI agents bursting down the front door decked out in full tactical gear.

But no. The problem is that Barclay actually _enjoys_ Stern’s company.

It’s been a week since their first laundry day and in that time, they’ve been . . . Well they’ve been talking. It started out with passing comments, Stern asking him how he was liking the book he borrowed. Then Barclay lent him a book in return, one of his favorite adventure mystery novels. And well, he couldn’t help but ask Stern what part he was at in the book over breakfast one morning. Which then led to him discussing his theories on the identity of the novel’s antagonist. All of which then came together to make Barclay kinda look forward to talking with Stern when he comes back in the evening from wherever he goes during the weekdays.

He doesn’t know if he would call Stern a friend yet. One and a half laundry days and some conversations about what they’re reading a friend does not make. But he is inching closer to that category than Barclay ever thought possible, their words flowing easier and easier every time they speak.

And that wouldn’t be a problem if Stern wasn’t here to kill him.

Or kidnap him

Or experiment on him.

Or kidnap, experiment and then kill him.

Or-

Barclay takes a deep, steadying breath and grabs his bag of laundry from the hamper. These thoughts could easily worm their way through his brain, settling in to the tight nooks and crannies until it's rooted in too deep to pull out. If he wants to stop the constant worry, if he wants to start the foundation for a possible friendship with Stern, he has to ask him what step two is in his ‘Find Bigfoot Plan’.

Now whether or not Barclay actually wants to hear Stern’s answer is another question entirely.

Walking out into the lobby, Barclay immediately spies Stern sat on one of the couches, posture perfect per usual. He’s also alone, but again, that’s not out of the norm. He gets about five feet from him before Stern looks up from his book and smiles at him. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah and I’ll uh, I’ll drive this time.” Barclay twirls his truck keys around his finger, a nervous habit he hopes Stern hasn’t picked up on. If he’s going to be asking Stern whether or not he’s here to snipe bigfoot, he at least wants some control over the situation. “Thought we could switch off each week?”

“That works perfectly, thank you.” And then Stern stands up, holding his own bag of laundry and nodding towards the door. “Shall we?”

And as they put their laundry in the back of the truck, Barclay just catches a few curious but wary faces peering out at the two of them from the windows. He makes eye contact with a pair of mismatched eyes, one brown and the other orange, and gives a little smile.

The eyes quickly disappear behind the curtains, subtly not being their owners forte.

That’s another thing he’ll have to deal with if he wants Stern to be his friend in the future- The rest of the lodge. But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that will be heavily influenced by how his current problem pans out.

God Barclay has a lot of problems.

“So I haven’t had as much time as I would have liked to read since we last spoke, work has been keeping me occupied, but I should have your book back to you by the end of next week.”

“No rush,” Barclay turns the key in the ignition and suddenly the car is filled with the beats of Jimmy Buffet and he can’t hit the stop button on the car’s cd player fast enough. Thankfully, Stern just raises an eyebrow and says nothing of his music tastes. “That’s not my only copy anyways. So even if it takes you awhile to get it back, it’s all good by me.”

Barclay peels out of the parking lot and Stern’s hand flies to the car door, gripping it tight. “Ah that’s uh,” a sharp intake of breath as he rounds a corner. “That’s great. Thank you.”

The car goes silent as Stern clutches to the car with every bend they go round and Barclay debates whether now would be a good time to bring up whether Stern would kill him given the chance. Well, not a good time exactly. He doesn’t think there will ever be a _good_ time, but he could do for a non-terrible one at least. And as he spares a glance over at Stern, face pale, eyes wide and chewing on the inside of his cheek, Barclay thinks he looks like a guy who could use a distraction.

“Hey on the topic of your job and all, I’m curious ‘bout something.” He keeps his tone light and easy, like this is something that just popped into his head. “Let’s say that Bigfoot’s actually real-”

“It is.”

“That wasn’t really the-” He takes a breath. “Nevermind. All I’m wanting to ask is, if you do find Bigfoot, what then? You carrying a big net with you? Or are you gonna, I don’t know-” Barclay waves his hand and Stern makes a noise, high and tight in his throat, probably for not maintaining the ten and two position on the steering wheel. “Shoot it on sight?”

In that moment, Barclay kinda regrets doing this while driving because now, he can’t see Stern’s face when he says, “That is . . . Not an easy question to answer.”

“Why?”

“Well, let me put it this way- I do not _want_ to murder Bigfoot.”

Barclay tries to keep his hands steady on the wheel as he combs over the intricacies of such a short sentence. The word ‘want’ is interesting sure, but also ‘murder’ has some implications he should examine if he’s being honest. “But . . .”

“But I also want to protect people,” Stern continues. “And if there is an imminent threat to human life, well that is going to precede anything else. Though I will admit, that would be the worse case scenario.”

Barclay laughs though he doesn’t know why. Panic maybe? “Guess your bosses would be angry if you went and killed Bigfoot before they could get their hands on it, huh?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Barclay catches Stern tilt his head. “My superiors have nothing to do with my disdain for the thought of killing Bigfoot, they don’t even believe in it.”

This time, Barclay can’t help but whip his head over to Stern. “What th-”

“Eyes on the road!”

He quickly turns back, a flush creeping up his neck. “Sorry. But, also- How do the folks running _Unexplained Phenomenon_ not believe in Bigfoot? Thought that was, you know, part of your whole thing?”

“Most of my coworkers don’t either if that helps.”

Barclay makes a face that he’s not sure Stern sees. “It doesn’t. In fact, that just complicates things more. Who would join UP if they didn’t even believe in all that stuff?” He comes to a stoplight. “Seems counterproductive to me.”

“Well, they believed when they joined. Believed in Bigfoot and Mothman and Nessie and ghosts, all sorts of supernatural entities, but-” Stern’s mouth twists into an odd smile. “After a while of working for UP that changes. Most people can only get sent on so many assignments across the country that turn out to be hoaxes or misidentified animals before that belief becomes harder to maintain than it's worth.” He shrugs, tapping his fingers on armrest. “My coworkers go in already doubting every testimony, every shred of evidence that doesn’t conform to the explanations they’ve thought up. They don’t want to explore the unknown they want to explain it away with the mundane and then _I’m_ the crazy one for actually doing my job and-”

Stern suddenly stops and takes a deep breath in. Then as he smooths out his slacks and adjusts his glasses he says, far calmer than before, “I apologise. I didn’t mean to start ranting.”

Making a mental note of this apparent sore spot, a part of him wants to leave it there. But he also knows that if he doesn’t ask what he’s about to ask, his head will supply the answers for Stern and he knows his imagination will not be kind to him. “No worries. Can I uh, can I ask you one more question though?”

Stern nods.

“If your worst case scenario is having to kill bigfoot, what’s your best?”

Stern goes silent for a moment, but when he does speak, his voice is steady, even and confident. “I figure out what’s behind all the disappearances linked to Bigfoot these past thirty years, stop the threat, keep people safe, hopefully bring some closure to their families.” He chuckles, but it sounds just as hollow as his next words. “All easier said than done.”

All he gets in response is a slight “uhuh” as Barclay churns through this information. So not here to capture or disect or kill him, just . . . Keep people safe.

He could work with that.

“Now if you don’t mind, I have a question for you.”

Barclay’s thankful the light turns green in that moment so Stern can’t see the slight panic in his eyes. “Yeah uh, go right ahead.”

Then Barclay swears to the high heavens that he can feel the slight smile on Stern’s face when he asks, “Was that James Buffett playing from your CD player earlier?”

And Barclay can’t help but laugh, the last of his tension ebbing away with each breath. “James Buffett?” he manages out through his chuckling. “Who calls him James?”

Stern huffs though there’s no real heat behind it. “First, that _is_ his name, so I’m not sure what’s so funny. Second, I do believe you’re avoiding the question.”

“It’s winter in West Virginia,” And this time when Barclay takes a turn a bit too fast, Stern’s too distracted to care. “So sue me if I wanna imagine I’m somewhere a bit warmer. ‘Sides, I still haven’t seen your music. Lemme guess, all classical huh?”

“If you categorize ABBA as classical, then yes.”

“What? ABBA? Really?” Barclay tries to imagine Stern in his car, driving down some highway as Waterloo blasts from his speaker, singing along and not caring to keep up his perfectly tailored image. It’s not a bad thought, truth be told.

Stern shrugs, glancing out the window as they pass by the Cryptonomica. “What can I say, they’re good.”

“Hey I’m not arguing. Jake plays them all the time, won’t find a person in the whole of Amnesty who doesn’t know all the lyrics to at least one of their songs, even if they learned it unwittingly.”

“Oh? And what song do you know praytell?” Stern turns to Barclay as he comes to a stop sign, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Take A Chance On Me,” Barclay replies easily. “Got it stuck in my head once and hated it for a bit, but it grew on me.”

“Well then, I’ll make sure to bring that CD along next time.”

And Barclay won’t admit it, but he’s honestly looking forward to not just next time, but the times inbetween too, especially after hearing that Stern isn’t some shoot first ask questions later kinda guy.

Maybe it’s time to get the others to see that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter was originally completely different and involved going to the post office, but then as I was writing chapter 4, I realised that I didn't really like it so I completely scrapped it and started over. I'm pleased with how it turned out in the end cause I knew that they were going to need to have this convo at some point, and I think in the grand scheme of things, sooner rather than later will be better.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'm really excited for chapter four and I hope I can get it out soon. It does involve other people that I haven't really written for before though, so lets see how it goes!


	4. 9:50 on a Saturday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie nights at the lodge are a time of fun, food and family, so inviting Agent Stern along should be a great time, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place March the 16th, so not a laundry day- We'll save that for the next chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

If Barclay was being honest with himself, he would say that this brownie batter stopped needing to be stirred around two minutes ago. But he’s not, so he continues mixing as his own thoughts swirl around his mind.

It’s Saturday and Barclay’s alone in the kitchen, the familiar feeling of measuring out ingredients and greasing pans keeping him calm. Which to an outside observer, he really shouldn’t have any reason for being anything other than calm. He’s had a pretty good week to say the least. Since he confirmed that Stern’s not going to shoot Bigfoot on sight if, god forbid, he ever sees his true form, Barclay feels like they might actually cross the threshold into friends in the future. But not yet. No. If he wants that down the road, there’s another hurdle he’ll have to jump.

The lodge.

Because even though everyone has seen Barclay and Stern head off together for laundry day a couple of times now, and the sight of the two of them talking about some new theory for the books they’ve borrowed from each other is becoming more commonplace, the other lodge residents don’t talk to Stern and they certainly don’t trust him.

And the lodge is his family, seeing them uncomfortable twists Barclay’s stomach into knots. If he can just show them that they have nothing to fear from Stern, then maybe the fog of tension that descended onto Amnesty the moment Agent Stern strolled up would dissipate.

Hopefully.

There’s also something strangely familiar about this whole thing, something that Barclay can’t quite put his finger on- Like when you know you’ve tasted something before but you can’t remember where. However, Barclay has more pressing matters than finding the source of this weird deja vu.

In the middle of his thoughts, the kitchen door opens and in walks Stern, still wearing his usual white button up and slacks.. “Just getting some water,” he explains as he goes to grab a glass from the cupboard and fills it up at the sink. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re good, I’m just making snacks for movie night.” Barclay continues stirring, not sure if he should wait til later in the day to ask or not.

“Ah, well have fun then.”

And then Stern starts to leave as quickly as entered, and Barclay finally stops stirring. “Do you wanna come?”

Pausing, hand still against the door, Stern turns back to him with his eyebrows furrowed. “Pardon?”

“Do you wanna come to movie night? Ned’s gonna be doing Saturday Night Dead this evenin’ and a lot of us get together and watch it sometimes. You could join us if you want?”

With an odd sort of slow precision, Stern sets down his glass on the counter. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he finally says, voice the same as his movements.

“Wouldn’t be intruding if I’m inviting you.” Barclay smiles. “It’s a lot of fun, trust me.”

“I’m not doubting that. It’s just . . .” He pauses. “Does everyone agree that there will be enough ah, room for me?”

Barclay immediately knows what he’s getting at. “Don’t worry, I already asked and everyone agrees that there’s enough . . . space for you.”

It’s not a lie. Barclay did ask everyone beforehand. Or well . . . He asked Jake, who out of everyone is the most open about Stern, and then got him to ask everyone else.

Was bribing him with a chance to lick the batter off all the spoons underhanded?

Maybe.

But was it any more underhanded than specifically getting the darling of Amnesty Lodge, the one person no one can say no to, to ask everyone else?

Probably not.

“Ah,” Stern picks up his glass of water again and takes a small sip. “Well, if everyone’s sure, then yes, I’ll join you all. What time will the movie be starting.”

Hoping to hide his relief that Stern said yes, Barclay finally begins pouring the brownie batter into a pan. “Ten, but folks usually start gathering ‘round in the lobby at nine-fifty.”

“Great. And ah, do I need to bring anything? Any snacks?”

Gesturing to the brownie batter before him and the dozens of cookies he’s already baked, Barclay smiles. “Think we’re good on the snack front.”

He swears the tips of Stern’s ears turn red, but that might just be from how warm it is in the kitchen. “Yes, of course. Then I will see you tonight.”

And as Stern leaves, Barclay feels a slight hint of anxiety start to creep across his skin, but he pushes that to the side.

Tonight will be great.

He just knows it.

 

* * *

 

“I’m telling you guys, snow season’s not gonna wait for us. We don’t go and take advantage of that sweet, sweet powder soon, it’ll be gone.”

“I’d like that,” Dani says from her spot on the couch. “Aubrey and I can perfect our ‘pizza and french fry’ stunt. A bit more practice and I think we can go pro.”

And as the others start to plan out another ski-day, apparently forgetting how the last one ended less than ideally, Barclay doesn’t really pay attention. His gaze is caught between the hallway leading to half the lodge’s rooms and the clock on the wall reading 9:58pm. Everyone else is already here, some getting comfy on the floor, others piling together on the couches, everyone but Stern that is.

Maybe he changed his mind or something came up with his job or he realised that this is in part a ploy to get the rest of the lodge used to him or-

The room suddenly descends into a far more subdued version of what it was moments before. Conversations turn to whispers. People sit up straighter. Popcorn stops flying. Or atleast- most of the popcorn stops flying. One particular piece thrown by someone on the right half of the room goes arching through the quiet air with a shout of “Kobe!” seconds before.

Now based on the direction the popcorn is headed and the voice who called out, Barclay’s best guess is that the projectile is meant for one of the other lodge residents, a young woman named Nexiad sat on a couch to Barclay’s left. However, he can tell as the piece of popcorn flies overhead that it won’t hit her, the aim is too high and it's going to fast and-

And it hits Stern right in the face.

There's a sudden silence before,“Great job now he’s gonna arrest us.” is mumurred, hopefully quiet enough for Stern not to hear.

Barclay hadn’t even noticed him come in, which, he really should have based on what he’s wearing. Because while everyone else is in sweats or jeans or pajamas, Stern is decked out in his full FBI outfit. And not just the white button up and slacks he wears for ‘casual days’. No- His black suit jacket and tie have made an appearance which, you know, really doesn’t help Barclay’s plan to help everyone see past the whole ‘Intimidating FBI agent’ thing.

For a man who does so much laundry, he sure acts like all his clothes save his suits are constantly dirty.

“I’m not late am I?” Stern asks in a tone of voice even more levelled and controlled than usual.

Barclay shakes his head, worried that anything he says will come out tinged with regret at this whole idea.

And then Stern comes and stands next to the couch where Barclay is sat and he just catches the way those seated on the floor around him tense. Agent Stern is not short by any stretch of the word. In fact, if they’re only counting their human forms, Stern is the tallest person in the lodge. So even though he’s just standing there, the impression that he’s looming over them all is a hard one to ignore.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Stern points to an empty armchair to Barclay’s left.

“Yeah, you are,” he says in what’s supposed to be a joke to cut the tension but by the way Stern’s eyes narrow, he’s not sure it landed.

“So . . . Is that a no?”

“Yes.”

“Yes someone is sitting here?”

“No, I uh, I was making a joke. Cause I saved the seat for you.”

“Oh.” Stern puts on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he sits down. “Thank you then.”

To his right, Barclay just catches Dani hide her head in her hands and mutter “Oh boy.”

Off to a great fucking start.

Barclay waits for the conversations that had been bouncing around the room to start back up again, but they don’t. There are a few murmurs here and there, but besides that, the wind knocking against the windows and a commercial for Whistle’s car lot are the loudest things in the room.

“So do we know what movie Ned will be playing tonight?” Stern asks, sitting with his back straight and hands in his lap. He looks like he’s gearing up for an interview.

Barclay shakes his head. “Dani, did Aubrey mention it to you?”

“Uh they’re starting off with The Brain Eaters and then after that I think Ned’s wanting to show It! The Terror From Beyond Space or something like that.” Dani continues to pet Dr. Harris Bonkers Ph.D on her lap as she talks. “Have you seen either of those Agent Stern?”

Barclay flashes her a thankful smile he hopes she catches. They might want to work on everyone calling him ‘Agent’ but that’s not too big a problem.

“No I haven’t. Have you?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

Barclay’s pretty sure he hears crickets chirping through this terribly awkward silence despite it being the dead of Winter. Thankfully, it’s then that the sound of thunder crashes from the tv and everyone turns to see the opening title of card of Saturday Night Dead flash across the screen.

The camera slowly zooms in to where Ned is sat on a high-backed armchair, the cheesiest UFO props hanging around him and is that . . . Yep that’s a cow getting abducted in the background. Usually this would be the part where everyone playfully ribs the decor choices, their laughter mixed in with shouts of “That’s you!” anytime one of the terrible rubber monster masks makes an appearance.

But not this time.

This time everyone is dead silent, people instead occupying themselves with the snacks Barclay had made. Even Stern grabs a napkin and a brownie, breaking off small pieces to eat as he watches Ned introduce the first movie.

“Are the decorations usually of this- Caliber?” Stern’s voice comes out careful and even, the end just barely tailing up into a question.

“Yeah man,” Jake calls from across the room, such a stark contrast to the silence that Barclay jaw clenches tight. “Aubrey and Duck help Ned make ‘em each week. Aren’t they sick?”

Stern’s eyebrows raise a fraction. “Ah- Yes. They are certainly . . . Something.”

And just like that, the room is back to silence and to make matters worse, that sense that this is all something that Barclay should know is back, tickling the edges of his mind like an itch that he can’t scratch because he doesn’t even know where’s it coming from.

But again, he doesn’t dive too deep into the feeling as the movie starts. He spends a good couple minutes trying to get into it, he really does, but he can’t focus. Dani, Jake, all the other sylphs are obviously uncomfortable. Stern, despite his attempts to hide it, is obviously uncomfortable. Everyone is uncomfortable and there’s no way out of it. It’s not like he can ask Stern to leave and he can’t force the others to talk. No, it was Barclay’s idea to invite Stern to movie night, so he’s got to be the one to fix this, to find some common ground or-

Stern yawns. It’s a fake yawn, but there was some effort put in to make it appear real. “Seems I’m a bit more tired than I realised, so I think I’ll retire for the night.” Standing up, Stern gives Barclay a put upon smile. “Thank you for inviting me, I hope you all enjoy the rest of the movie.”

And before Barclay can say a word, Stern navigates his way around the people sitting on the floor with an expert precision and disappears back towards his room.

The clock reads 10:07 pm.

Fuck.

The silence lingers until they hear the click of a door shutting, too soft for human ears.

Someone sighs a breath of relief and that- That’s the final nail in the coffin.

“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” He asks, trying to keep his voice light. There are a few calls for water, and with that Barclay gets up and makes his way out of the lobby and back into the familiarity of the kitchen. He closes the door behind him and just stands there for a moment, a wave of exhaustion threatening to take him under.

“Not the movie night you were imaginin’?”

Barclay doesn’t jump at Mama’s voice calling softly from across the kitchen, instead he just pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “You could say that.”

Not looking up from fixin’ up a plate of leftovers, probably for Thacker, Mama just shrugs. “Can’t say I’m surprised if I’m bein’ honest. I mean-” She meets his eyes. “What were you thinkin’ was gonna happen Barclay?”

“I don’t know, I . . . I guess- Look, I didn’t think they were all just gonna magically be friends. But I atleast thought they’d talk, find some common interests, you know? Like he and I did.” He lets out a soft sigh as he grabs some cups. “Obviously, that didn’t really work.”

“Not like you can really blame ‘em for bein’ hesitant ‘bout getting all buddy-buddy with a federal agent.”

“I don’t blame them. I really don’t. I just- I hate seeing everyone so afraid. We’ve all had enough fear to last a lifetime and Amnesty's supposed to be a refuge from all that.” He glances out the cutout window from the kitchen to the lobby, catching a glance of Dr. Harris Bonkers hopping across people’s laps as they coo and laugh. “So I guess I thought if everyone got together and they saw that Stern’s just a guy, that they have nothing to be afraid of, people would start bein’ more comfortable when he walks in the room.”

_And Stern would be less lonely._

Mama sets down the knife she was using to cut up Thacker’s dinner and levels a look at him, her voice a quiet yet hard force. “But do we really have nothing to be afraid of? I mean, I know y’all love talkin’ bout your books and everything, but a few loads of laundry don’t change the fact that he’s a FBI agent trying to uncover everything we’ve worked so hard to hide.”

“But he-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know he doesn’t wanna kill ya or nothing. That’s great. But Barclay, you gotta admit, you’re puttin’ a lot of trust in a man you barely know. You’re so sure he’s a good guy, but do you even know his first name?”

Barclay goes silent and still. Not answering.

He doesn’t need to.

Mama sighs in the silence, shoulders slumping forward. “Look, I trust you. You know that. And if you go an’ decide that this agent won’t cause us trouble, I trust that too. All I’m sayin’ is, before you give him that trust, maybe you should learn a bit more about him than just what books he reads and detergent he uses.”

And the thing is, Mama’s not wrong. His and Stern’s conversations usually stick to what they’re reading and little tidbits about their days. The conversations flow easily, time passing faster than he thought possible. It’s weird how talking about not much at all can feel like talking about a lot. Cause he does truly enjoy talking to Stern and it _feels_ like he does know him.

But he doesn’t.

Not really.

“I think the movies back on,” Mama comments, offering him a smile. “Why don’t ya head back out before they all think you’ve been got by the garbage disposal and start a search party for ya. I’ve gotta go give this to Thacker anyways.”

Barclay nods. “Alright. Thanks Mama.”

“Anytime.”

And as Barclay goes out into the lobby, dodging thrown popcorn and hollered questions about when Aubrey will be performing, a thought crosses his mind that he should go knock on Stern’s door, but he quickly decides against it. He doesn’t even know what he would say to him and besides . . .

He barely even knows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In the outline I wrote for this fic, Stern originally excused himself from the movie by faking a phone call. Here's the thing though, you can't really fake a phone call in the national radio quiet zone and I'm not gonna put y'all through that second hand embarassment that I can barely handle myself. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Laundry day was supposed to be included in this chapter, but doing so would have made the chapter way longer than I would've liked, so I split the chapter in half. So look out for next chapter soon in which (spoiler alert) Stern and Barclay get to know each other


	5. Nine Second Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going into laundry day, Barclay is well aware of two things.
> 
> 1.) He doesn't know much about Agent Stern.
> 
> 2.) That's going to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer than I thought to get this chapter out bc of school, but here it is!! It's Laundry Day and also March the 17th! Hope y'all enjoy!

Credit where credit is due, Stern plays the part of ‘fine’ so well that Barclay barely notices that he’s _not._

Sunday morning rolls around and Stern comes out of his room no later than 7:30am, like always.

He orders a plate of pancakes and one black coffee and then flips through the paper while he waits, like always.

When the food arrives, Stern flashes Barclay a charming smile and thanks him, telling him it looks delicious, like always.

Then, Stern carefully tears open four sugar packets and three creamer cups and dumps them into his coffee, making Barclay’s taste buds shrivel up at the sight, like always.

All in all, a typical Sunday.

The only slip up, the only crack in Stern’s perfectly crafted mask, the only thing that makes Barclay think that he might actually be upset by last night is when he catches how quickly Stern adverts his eyes and busies himself with his newspaper when a few of the other lodge guests settle into the dining area. Usually, he gives a polite nod and a good morning to go along with it.

But not today.

Maybe movie night finally confirmed Stern’s suspicions that nearly everyone at the lodge doesn’t like being around him? Or possibly he’s embarrassed at leaving after only nine minutes? And no matter how badly Barclay wants to fix this, Mama’s words keep ringing in his head, reminding him that he can't, at least not for the moment.

Like what’s he supposed to do? Try and get the rest of the lodge to get to know him when Barclay barely knows Stern himself? And it's not like Stern’s making all of this any easier anyways. Seriously, _who wears a suit jacket and tie to a cheesy horror movie marathon?_

Agent Stern, that’s who.

But as Barclay slides into the passenger seat of Stern’s car, he tries to wave away these thoughts that have been following him around like a cloud all day. Afterall, Stern’s not the only one around here with emotions to hide.

“So how was the rest of movie night?” Stern asks, his tone light, as he slowly drives the car over the dirt road leading away from Amnesty lodge.

“Oh it was uh,” Barclay nearly says good, but he doesn’t want to imply that Stern leaving made it better, no matter what some of the other residents might say. “It was a pretty standard Saturday Night Dead special. Cheesy effects, bad acting- Aubrey performed some magic tricks between the movies and Duck made a PSA about not waking up sleeping bears, same stuff as always.”

“That all sounds nice, if I hadn’t been so tired I would have loved to watch it with you all.”

It’s a bold-faced lie, but a bold-faced lie that Barclay isn’t going to call him out on.

As they stop at the  t-junction where the dirt path meets the main road so Stern can check for oncoming cars, Barclay just catches the set of Stern’s jaw and the way he’s worrying his lip before he says:

“Can I ask you something?”

Despite his brain immediately going to defcon 1, Barclay nods. “Of course.”

“Did I-” Stern doesn’t look at him when he speaks, instead focusing on pulling the car out onto the main road. “Have I done something to-”

And then whatever he’s about to say next gets cut off as Stern slams on the brakes, narrowly avoiding crashing into a car that had just come barrelling out from behind the bend in the road.

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Shit!”

 

The car goes silent as they idle on the side of the road, watching the other car go racing by.

Not the best start to laundry day, that’s for sure.

After taking a second to regain his breath, Stern actually does pull out onto the road. “I can’t believe people. I mean honestly, we have speed limits for a reason.”

“Yeah, I don’t think a lot of folks around here even know the road to Amnesty exists, so they just blow right past it.” Barclay pauses, thinking about how this is very much done on purpose. There are no signs, no street name, you would only ever know the Lodge is up that road if someone told you. Just the way they want it. “Also uh, what were you saying before?”

“Hm?”

“You were asking me something before, you didn’t get the chance to finish.”

“Oh was I?” Stern shrugs. “I don’t remember, if it comes back to me I’ll be sure to let you know.”

And as the conversation moves on, Barclay decides that he won’t call Stern out on this lie either.

At least not yet.

They get to the laundromat in about ten minutes, like always.

The bell rings above the door and the other patrons don’t pay them any mind, like always.

Stern sets his peacoat on the back of a chair before the two of them set up shop at some washing machines at the end of one of the rows, like always.

And as Stern starts loading his bedding into the drum, Barclay knows he could start talking about the latest chapter of his book that he finished this morning and they’d spend the time discussing theories and their favorite parts, like always.

But you know what?

Barclay thinks he’s had enough of doing things just like always.

“They don’t hate you, you know.”

Stern freezes, a pillowcase clutched in his hand as the only part of him that moves are his eyes as he glances over to Barclay.

“The rest of the lodge- They don’t hate you,” he continues, pushing through the anxiety in his stomach telling him to stop. He could mess everything up even more than it already is. They should just go back to the familiar pattern they’ve established over this last month. Keep things as they are. But no, _he can’t_ leave things as they are. They need change, even if it's not comfortable. “That’s what you were going to ask earlier, right? If you’ve done something to make the rest of the lodge hate you?”

Slowly, Stern places the pillowcase in the washing machine, not looking at Barclay as he does so. “Perhaps.”

“Look, the reason everyone uh, steers clear of you, is that they’re intimidated by you. All they see when they look at you is a scary FBI agent who carries around a gun and is here to hunt monsters. You got to admit, that’s pretty intimidating.”

Stern’s tone is clear and clipped when he replies, “So what do you suggest? I quit my job so I can be liked?”

“No that’s-” Barclay groans and sets down his bag of clothes, turning to face Stern. “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

“Then what _are_ you trying to say? Because I must admit Barclay, I don’t necessarily appreciate being told I’m just an intimidating, scary FBI agent with a gun.”

Although neither of them are raising their voices, Barclay’ still glad that the other patrons have headphones in. Maybe out in public wasn’t the best place for this conversation.

“But that’s the thing- _you’re not_ , but they don’t know you well enough to see that. They just need to get to know you.” Barclay sighs. “ _I_ need to get to know you. I mean, I barely know anything about you.”

Now it's Stern’s turn to face Barclay. “I could say the same about you.”

“Yeah, you could.”

The two of them go silent and it feels like someone’s just cranked the volume up on the early 2000s music coming out of the laundromat speakers, the static mirroring the feeling in Barclay’s chest.

They finish loading their laundry like that, not talking, not looking at each other, before finally sitting down with two empty seats in between them.

There are no books pulled out or crossword puzzles started as they sit there. Neither of them have bothered bringing anything to pass the time in weeks- They always just talk to each other about what they’re reading.

But not today.

And truth be told, maybe that’s for the best.

“So,” Barclay starts, staring ahead, “we really don’t know each other, huh?”

“No. We don’t.”

“Well . . . We’ve got,” He glances over the machines. “Twenty-eight more minutes till we’ve got to take out our laundry and then another hour after that for it to dry. Don’t know about you, but I think that’s a pretty good amount of time to start getting to know each other.”

He turns to Stern and offers a small smile. At first all he gets in response is an unreadable blank stare, until Stern nods and gives him a tentative smile back. “I think that sounds agreeable.”

And Barclay finds it almost crazy that even just that makes some of that cloud of worry that’s been following him around all day dissipate.

“Alright uh, first question I guess and I apologise in advance for this.” Barclay rubs the back of his neck. “What’s your first name? Unless it’s, I don’t know, classified or something?”

This gets a chuckle out of Stern. “Unless my first name was the nuclear launch codes, I can’t imagine why it would be classified. But ah yes, it’s Stanley.”

“Stanley Stern huh?” Barclay mulls over the name. “I like it, suits you.”

“Thank you. You can call me Stanley or Stern, I don’t mind either way. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your last name? That is unless Barclay is your last name, and if that is the case, I suppose I’ll ask the same question you asked me.”

Scrambling to remember what last name is on his current fake I.D, Barclay hopes his pause isn’t too suspicious before he finally says. “Nah, Barclay’s my first name. Last name’s Cobb.”

Stern’s eyes immediately flicker down to his left hand. “Oh! So you and Ms. Madeline Cobb are . . .”

“No, no no, we’re not married! God no. I’m not even-” He cuts himself off. Maybe he’ll save that tidbit for later. “Yeah, that's just a weird coincidence to be honest. We’re not even related. Also you can keep calling me Barclay. Don’t even know if I’d respond to Mr. Cobb, haven’t been called that in ages.”

He’s actually never been called that and he knows _for a fact_ he wouldn’t respond to Mr. Cobb, but telling Stern that is gonna tear down the illusion real quick. And besides, his real last name has letters in it that no human alphabet contains and he doesn’t even wanna begin trying to kill that can of worms.

“Also, I think you’re the only person ‘round here who calls her ‘Ms. Madeline Cobb’.” The name feels weird on Barclay’s tongue and it feels like he’s talking about a stranger.

Stern shrugs. “While I am well aware of the moniker you all use for her, I don’t think we’re at the level of familiarity.”

There’s an unstated ‘Nor will we ever’ but Barclay doesn’t have time to dwell on that before they move on.

“So do you have any siblings?”

“Nah, only child actually, though I did have a big family growing up.” Barclay is careful with his words, trying to make sure nothing accidentally slips out that would raise suspicions while being as truthful as possible. “I had tons of aunts and uncles and cousins, half I don’t even know how they were related to me and the other half I _know_ weren’t, but they were all family. I’ve uh, lost contact with them though, but it’s fine. Don’t think I even really need to say that the lodge is my family now anyways.”

“Now that _is_ one thing I did already know about you,” And then Stern gives him a small warm smile that Barclay returns.

“So what about you? Only child too?”

“Oh no I have six siblings.”

Barclay pauses, his head tilting. He must have misheard, the washers and dryers muffling the noise. “Sorry did you say you have _six siblings_?”

“Indeed. I have two older sisters and an older brother- They’re triplets. Then I have two younger sisters and a younger brother. I’m the middle child.”

Huh.

Six other Stern’s running around that’s uh . . . Unexpected.

Finally, Barclay manages out a simple, “That’s a lot of kids.”

“Oh certainly. Quiet moments in the Stern household were few and far between, I’ll tell you that. There was always something going on, someone needing help, someone practicing for a recital, some argument that would be over by dinner, someone to talk to . . .” Stern shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “I haven’t seen them all in some time now, but we try to talk on the phone now and again, helps somewhat I suppose.”

In a weird way, Stern’s description of his home growing up, lots of people to talk to, lots of noise and chaos and people running around and a million things going on that you wouldn’t trade for the world- That’s how Barclay sees the Lodge.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that’s how all the lodge residents view it. Sure there will be times when people get on each others nerves, but they’re all always there for each other. If Barclay wants to talk to someone, he’s got twenty-two other people he could turn to.

Stern doesn’t.

“Speakin’ of family, where did you grow up?” Barclay asks, hoping to move the topic onto safer waters.

“Connecticut, and you?”

_Ah yes_ . This _is_ how conversations usually work. One person asks a question and the other person asks it right back. So complicated that Barclay can’t be blamed for not seeing that coming. He quickly picks a state that he’s been to enough that he could answer questions about it if asked. “Washington.”

Stern’s eyes narrow and his head tilts. “Oh.”

The tossing and turning and sloshing of the washing machines reflect Barclay’s stomach perfectly in that moment and he tries to at least keep his voice even as he asks, “Something wrong?”

Shaking his head, Stern starts fiddling with his his cufflink. “No, I’m sorry, I just-” He laughs. “This is going to sound silly.”

Across the room, a dryer begins beeping in time to the alarms going off in Barclay’s head. “Try me.”

“Well it’s just, I don’t know, in my mind you’ve always been here in Kepler, here at the lodge even. And I know, I know, you don’t have the accent so I really should have known better, but I suppose I just can’t imagine Amnesty without you.”

The beeping across the room stops as do both Stern and Barclay.

 

Well thats . . .

 

That’s not where he saw that going.

In the silence that follows, Stern coughs. “Like I said, silly. It’s not like you’ve been a chef all your life or anything. Which on the subject, did you always want to be a chef? Or was there something else you aspired to in your younger days?”

Huh. Looks like they’re both pretty good at changing the subject.

“Believe or not, when I was a kid I wanted to be mapmaker.”

“Pardon?”

Barclay nods, grinning at the look on Stern’s face. “Yeah, wanted to go around exploring the land, discovering new things, cataloging them and then making maps of the places I explored.” He leaves out exactly _where_ he wanted to explore because he somehow thinks talking about venturing beyond the city walls into the corrupted lands to try and map the unknown and discover more about the Quell, _just_ _might_ give away that he’s not from Earth.

Washington might be weird, but it's not _that weird_.

“You know,” Stern starts, turning more in his chair to face him. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met who wanted to be a mapmaker as a child. What made you change your career path?”

“Well first, I’m way better at cooking than cartography, like it better too. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy collecting maps and every once in a while I’ll get out my ink and paper and draw one up, but uh, I tried the whole, travelling around on my own and exploring and it's not as glamorous as it seems.”

He could leave it there, move on to whether Stern likes cats or dogs or what type of icecream he likes the best, but he finds himself actually wanting to tell Stern about this part of life.

“I- I mean we already covered that I haven’t always been at the lodge, so before I was here, I wasn’t really . . . Anywhere? Or I guess everywhere would be a better way to put it.” He glances over at Stern and finds he has his full attention, his gaze not wavering. Barclay glances back to his lap. “I basically just travelled around the country, never staying in one place for long, never putting down roots, sleeping in whatever shitty motel I could find.” Barclay takes a breath and finally looks back over to Stern. “Not the uh, not the best time. Would _not_ recommend.”

“Barclay,” he says, slowly, with something behind his eyes that Barclay can’t quite place. “You’ve just described my life over the past three years nearly perfectly.”

Allowing himself three seconds to comprehend those words, all Barclay can manage out is a quiet, “What?”

“My time here in Kepler is the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place in years,” Stern explains. “Before that, I’d be lucky if I remained in one town for more than two weeks. Sometimes I’d only get a day or two if I was unlucky. There is always some unexplained phenomenon UP wants me to investigate so as soon as I send in my final report, I’m immediately sent somewhere else. And all said and done, I must agree with your conclusion. It is not a life I would recommend. I can’t even name all the places I’ve been because after a while they-”

“-All start to blend together?” Barclay finishes for him and gets a nod in response. “I know the feeling. Doesn’t help that so many of these towns have the same stuff in them either.”

“Exactly! I’ve been in four different towns that all claim they have the world's largest rubber band ball and I swear I have been in the exact same Waffle House in seven different states.”

This gets a heartier laugh than Barclay was expecting. “I actually worked in a Waffle House once for a couple of weeks as a night cook and I couldn't tell you what state it was in if I tried. Mississippi? Or maybe Montana?”

“Those aren’t even close.” It’s Stern’s turn to laugh and Barclay just shrugs. “I think the very worst thing is always the motels though.”

“Oh absolutely. Waking up in the middle of the night and you can’t remember where you are because the past fifteen motels have all had that same terrible green and red floral bedspread and a picture of a boat on the wall. All you know is that you’re not home cause there’s no way your own bed would be this uncomfortable.”

Stern groans and although Barclay won’t admit it, seeing him loose some of that carefully crafted calm demeanor makes him smile. “For an entire industry based around providing a place to sleep, they certainly are lacking in that department.” Pausing for a second, Stern’s eyes go wide. “I ah, don’t mean to imply that Amnesty Lodge is like that though. Your accommodations have been the best I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience.”

Barclay waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it, didn’t think you were talking ‘bout Amnesty anyways.”

“I’m glad, because I’m telling the truth when I say that my very first night at Amnesty Lodge, I slept for fourteen hours straight.” At Barclay’s expression Stern explains further. “I hadn’t even been driving that long beforehand, it was truly just that the beds at Amnesty are without question, the most comfortable I have slept on in years.”

“Well uh, thanks,” Barclay finally says, not knowing what else he’s supposed to do. “To tell the truth, I wish my first night in Amnesty had been that good, I didn’t get a wink of sleep. In fact, my first few-”

And then he stops, mouth still hanging open, the words on the edge of his tongue and waiting to step off into the world.

But they don’t.

Instead, Barclay’s mind is bombarded by memories.

Memories he hasn’t brought to the surface in so long.

Memories his brain had been trying to remind him of that he had simply pushed away, attributing it to an odd deja vu and nothing more.

“Is everything alright?” Stern asks, leaning closer while keeping enough of a comfortable distance to not be weird.

“Yeah I just-” Barclay tilts his head and takes a breath. “I just remembered something.”

“Oh.”

And Stern doesn’t push, leaving it entirely up to Barclay to either move the conversation on or keep it right where it is.

It takes less than nine seconds to decide.

“When I first came to the lodge, almost no one would talk to me.”

Stern’s mouth twitches and his eyes narrow slightly, but that’s the only response, so Barclay continues on.

“I only came to Kepler eight years ago, Mama was the one who brought me in, gave me a place to stay. But uh, folks around the lodge had heard things about me beforehand. Some false, others not. And so they were wary of me. Didn’t like being around me, afraid to talk to me, stuff like that.”

Barclay almost wonders how he could’ve forgotten this part of his life, but at the same time, it was just so easy to forget. The way things were back then are so far in the past, so different than they are now, that it feels more like a dream than a memory and it probably would've stayed that way if not for Stern.

Hell, Barclay will be the first to admit that this is not what he had in mind when he said they should get to know each other, but he wants Stern to understand that he knows what he’s going through.

“And don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t helping the situation. I was suspicious of everyone, kept people at a distance, didn’t make an effort to show people any other side of me.” Barclay chances a look over to Stern and sees his eyes downcast and shoulders slightly hunched.

“So what changed?”

“Well, I made an effort I guess.” Barclay’s fingers pick at a stain on his jeans. “I showed them that there was more to me than what they knew. Or thought they knew. Started small, got to know a few people at first then moved on to more. And you know what got my foot in the door and got people to be less scared of me?”

Stern shrugs.

“I juggled.”

Stern’s eyes are on him in a flash. “You what?”

“I juggled,” he repeats. “Forgot how it got brought up, but I mentioned that I know how to juggle, and someone, can’t remember who, asked to see. That combined with me cooking,think it made some people see me as less of a, I don’t know, just some big scary guy and more of just a . . . Well just a guy, I guess. The rest is history.”

There’s a lot more to it than that. People had been genuinely afraid that Barclay would lead people straight to Amnesty Lodge and in hindsight he can’t say he blames ‘em. He was too careless back then, got seen too often, did things he isn’t proud of, things he regrets. The rest of Amnesty had no reason to believe he wouldn’t continue like that once he settled down in Kepler. If it wasn’t for Mama vouching for him, encouraging him to make an effort with the rest of the sylphs, Barclay doesn’t know where he’d be.

“That’s ah,” Stern starts. “That’s hard to imagine I must admit. You and the rest of the lodge get along so well, knowing that there was a time where that wasn’t the case is . . . Odd.”

“I know the feeling, up until two minutes ago I’d basically forgotten we were ever anything but the way we are now. It's all in the past, I don’t blame them for how they acted and they don’t blame me either. But that wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t put in that effort.”

The silence returns but its not entirely comfortable. More of a pregnant pause than anything else.

“Thank you,” Stern finally says as he looks up. There’s a heaviness to his words that match the weight of Barclay’s story.

“Welcome.” And as Barclay smiles at him, another question surfaces in his mind, one that he’s not sure he should ask, but God is his curiosity killing him. Besides, it’ll be a nice segue onto a hopefully lighter subject. “And while we’re on the topic of the lodge and everything, I gotta ask- The suit jacket and tie last night-”

Stern interrupts him with a quiet groan. “Don’t worry, I’m well aware of how that must have come across.” At Barclay’s raised eyebrow, Stern continues. “I was cold and knew I would only get colder during the movie, and while I do own several sweatshirts, they are all-” He clears his throat. “-Unprofessional. So I decided wearing my suit jacket was my best option.”

“And the tie?”

Stern’s ears flush pink. “I thought it looked weirder without the tie.”

Trying not to smile, Barclay imagines Stern in his room last night standing in front of the mirror and deciding that wearing his full suit would be preferable to wearing some ‘unprofessional’ sweatshirt. Now Barclay almost asks why he wears button downs and slacks the rest of the time, but decides against it. Not like Barclay can exactly judge other people for choosing how they want the world to see them. “Well now you’ve got me curious, what’s so bad about these sweatshirts?”

“They’re all gifts from my family and seeing as they are all well acquainted with my fascination with the paranormal, their gifts usually tie into my work in some way. I really should buy myself some plain ones, but I haven’t really had the opportunity for anyone to see me in them, so the need hasn’t been too high.”

Barclay thinks for a second, his goal of not smiling at Stern’s plight gone. “They all have Bigfoot on ‘em, huh?”

“Oh _absolutely_.”

Barclay can’t help himself. He starts laughing and to his delight, so does Stern.

“You know,” Barclay manages out through his laughter. “If you want, you should wear ‘em sometime, bet some folks around the lodge would like them.”

And yeah, Barclay’s probably gonna get teased mercilessly when Stern wears those sweatshirts, but if it means that Stern's gotten comfortable enough around the Lodge to wear 'em, it'll be worth it.

“Hmm, not quite sure about that. Maybe someday.”

And as the conversation moves onto whether they had pets as kids or when their birthdays are, Barclay’s mind keeps circling back to how it delving into his personal matters with Stanley should have felt weird, but it didn’t.

It truly didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to write this chapter since I made the outline for this whole fic and I'm so happy with how it turned out. Showing that Barclay and Stern have some common life experiences was really important to me and I tried to make it as canon-compliant as possible based on what we know so far. Like Barclay does say he only came to lodge a few of years ago (eight years totally counts) and says he had some dark days in the past, so atleast that stuffs kinda based on something.
> 
> Up next: Stern makes an effort.
> 
> Also thank you so much to [Sternspatreon](https://sternspatreon.tumblr.com/) for letting me use the name Stanley for Agent Stern!! Go check out their stuff cause they're totally awesome!


	6. Eighth Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay is too distracted by burning fruit, butter complaints, and black stains to realize that his feelings towards Stern just might be developing into something beyond friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with chapter six! This one takes place on two seperate days, March the 18th and March the 24th.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!!

The absolute whiplash Barclay feels going from the genuine joy of Sunday to the Hell on Earth that is Monday should have honestly broken his neck and ended his misery.

First, Barclay hadn’t even been soaking in the hot springs for a single minute before the senior water aerobics class came wandering up and you know what? Those flutter kicks must really be paying off because Barclay’s never seen a group of seniors descend upon him with such speed and accuracy, which again, _Thank You Ned ‘Discretion’ Chicane._

Next, the most horrible smell wafted through the kitchen and infected the rest of the lobby because Aubrey had the bright idea to microwave all the grapes they had so everyone at the lodge could try Hot Grapes™. So now, not only does Barclay have to scrub his mind of the taste of burning fruit, but he’s got yet another item on his shopping list.

Then, the senior aerobics class got done outside and invaded the Lodge with the most inane demands for their food. Barclay got complaints that the butter was ‘Too Buttery’ and that they shouldn’t call it french toast because ‘This is America, not France’. He even got three people trying to convince him that ‘The other cook gave them a senior discount last time so they should get one again’ despite the fact that the other cook most certainly did not give a discount because there _is no other cook_.

Barclay huffs at the memory as he scrubs one of the pans they used for eggs, idly listening to Moira practicing scales in the lobby.

They also tipped like shit.

And Barclay desperately wants to complain to someone. Well no, that’s not exactly true. He desperately wants to complain to _Stern_. The rest of the lodge was either a witness to the morning chaos or have witnessed it before. Telling them the story won’t have the same impact. But telling Stern? That would be great. After yesterday, Barclay thought he’d be tired of telling Stern stories, but if anything, he just wants to tell him more. Stern paid attention when Barclay spoke, fully focusing on whatever he had to say, and Barclay knows this story should pull some truly great facial expressions from him despite how hard Stern may try to hide them.

But for the moment he can’t tell him. Stern is out scouring the forests or conducting interviews or any of the other vague things he told Barclay he does during the day. And it's clear to him that Stern wants to tell him more, desperate for someone to talk to about his work, but his insistence to keeping confidential information confidential stops him every time. So for now, Barclay keeps scrubbing at the frying pan, wondering when Stern will come back today.

And once Barclay makes his way through two more pans and a pot, something odd happens.

The standard steady piano scales stop, replaced with a faster back and forth jump between notes, the beginning of a song that Barclay can’t quite place.

From somewhere upstairs, a door slams and the piano music is temporarily drowned out by the thundering fall of footsteps.

Throwing his towel over his shoulder, Barclay makes his way to the cutout in the wall between the kitchen and lobby as he continues to listen to the song. It’s certainly not one Barclay’s heard Moira play before. Usually she sticks to Earth classics with a few sylph songs thrown in here and there. But this? It seems out of place.

However, as Barclay leans out of the little window, his question on what song this is dies on his tongue as Jake comes barreling down the stairs with a grin plastered on his face. “Moira! When did you learn to play M-!”

They both freeze.

Moira’s not at the piano.

No, at the piano sits Stern, back straight and perched on the edge of the bench as he taps away at the keys. There’s some hesitation to his movements, the notes not flowing quite right, some mistakes here and there. He’s good, not as good as Moira, but still good enough for Barclay to recognize the song once the chorus hits.

He’s playing Mama Mia.

“Whoa man, didn’t know you were an ABBA fan!” Jake exclaims as he dabs along to the beat, Barclay coming out to stand beside him all the while wary of his flailing arms.

“Yes I ah-” Stern stumbles on the fingering for a second before regaining the rhythm. “I do enjoy them.”

Barclay finds himself unable to look away from Stern’s hands as they dance across the keys. “Didn’t know you played Stanley,” he mangages out, mouth suddenly dry.

“I took lessons for most of my childhood, though I haven’t had the chance to play since started working for UP.” Stern pauses as he reaches for a high note. “But I thought I’d ah, pick it back up again.”

Barclay doesn’t know how to respond to that, too distracted by the warm feeling pooling in his chest to make his mouth say anything other than “huh.”

The song comes to an end and it's only then that Barclay realises he’s been smiling non-stop for the past three minutes.

So has Stern.

“What other songs you got, dude?” Jake asks, breath heavy from all the dabbing and dancing. “Can you play Fernando? Or ooh maybe Dancing Queen?”

“Well if you’re looking for specifically ABBA songs, I still remember how to play Waterloo, but I printed off the sheet music for Take A Chance On Me and I’m sure I can print off others and learn them too if you have any requests.”

And as Jake starts animatedly recounting to Stern his favorite ABBA songs, Moira joins in too and the conversation pivots to Stern complimenting her on her technique and Moira offering to lend him some of her sheet music in turn. The two of them start really getting into it, Jake leaving the conversation to race back upstairs and yelling behind him “Be right back!”

Meanwhile, Barclay’s just standing there like a genuine dumbass. Like he doesn’t know anything about playing the piano. Moira and Stern are talking about sostenuto pedals and swelling soundboards. What’s Barclay supposed to say?

_You’re really good_?

God he wants something actually meaningful to say, but his mind offers him no answers.

Unfortunately, Barclay doesn’t get any more time to come up with a good response as Moira bids Stern goodbye as she goes to fetch some of her sheet music.

“So uh. You’re really good.”

Oh fucking nailed it.

“Flatterer,” Stern replies with an easy grin. “The tempo was all over the place and I played a C sharp for the first note instead of a C among many other mistakes.”

Barclay doesn’t think before he responds. “Still think you’re really good.”

Stern takes a second to swallow. “Oh well . . . Thank you.”

Grabbing one of the dining room chairs, Barclay turns it around and sits down, resting his head on the back of the chair. “You do know that by dinner, everyone ‘round here is gonna know that you’re an ABBA loving piano player, right?”

“Of course.” Stern takes the opportunity to stretch his hands. They look soft. “In fact, I’m counting on it. It’s harder to be intimidating when everyone knows how many hours you spent learning to play 70s swedish pop music for the piano.”

“And how many hours is that?”

Stern chuckles, a light laugh he loves to hear. “Too many, let’s leave it at that.”

“Also did I hear that you’re taking requests?” He asks, trying to keep his tone casual to not give himself away.

“Indeed, it should give me a bit more practice. What do you have in mind?”

Grinning, Barclay leans in even closer. “Well I was thinking that Margaritaville by oh who was it, _James_ Buffet~”

“Actually nevermind,” Stern interrupts and Barclay can’t help but laugh at the smile Stern’s desperately trying to keep down. “I think I’d rather be just the intimidating FBI guy than play that.”

“Too late, your FBI persona’s already slipping. Can’t go back now.”

Stern rolls his eyes, no real heat behind it, and the corner’s of his lips just barely hinting at a smile . “I could always classify the information. Make it top secret and all that.”

“Oh you could certainly try, don’t know how well that’s gonna work out for you though. Whole lodge isn’t the best at keeping secrets.” Barclay says this without really thinking, caught up in the back-and-forth banter they’ve got going to really mull it over. But as soon as the lie passes his lips, that warm feeling bubbling in his chest boils over and douses the flames underneath, leaving Barclay feeling cold. He quickly clears his throat, hoping Stern didn’t notice the slight drop in his smile. “So you done with work for the day?”

“Yes, the microfilm reader at the library was acting up, so I decided to call it early today. I might head out again later though, I’m considering buying a plant for my room and was hoping Miss Dani could give me a recommendation of something I won’t kill within the week. I’ve seen her garden out back and it is truly remarkable.”

“Don’t have a green thumb huh?”

Stern shakes his head, dozens of dead plants dancing behind his eyes.

“Well, Dani’s definitely the person to go to. Quick tip though: Just call her Dani. Same goes for the rest of the lodge. Honestly, the only person you gotta use all the honorifics and stuff with is Dr. Harris Bonkers.”

Stern scans him over, looking for any hint that he’s kidding. “Miss Little’s- Sorry- Aubrey’s pet rabbit?”

“Yep. Didn’t graduate top of his class at Vassar to not be called Dr., according to Aubrey.”

Stern looks like he wants to take notes, but instead just gives a slow nod in a ‘This might as well happen’ sort of way. “Good to know.”

“Oh and if you want to pet him, don’t ask Aubrey, ask Dr. Bonkers and then she’ll let you know his answer.”

Another pause, this one longer. “You know, usually a statement like that would make me think someone was trying to pull my leg.”

Barclay allows the faintest smile to play on his lips as he locks eyes with Stern. “But?”

“But I trust you.”

The room goes silent, the steady crackle of the fireplace the only sound permeating the room. The warmth once again blooms in his chest and this time it spreads to his face where it it mercifully hidden by his beard. The pure sincerity of Stern’s words juxtaposed against the light subject proceeding it touched something deep within Barclay to an almost overwhelming degree and in that moment, Barclay needs something, anything to say so he’s not just staring at Stern as he rubs his arm and-

As soon as he catches sight of Stern’s cufflinks, Barclay immediately says “Those are really nice.”

Replacing his normal plain, silver cufflinks are a mismatched pair of far more color. Both are small circles, but one has the colors of the rainbow in bands across its surface while the other is sporting the pink, blue, and white of the trans pride flag.

“Oh thank you,” Stern says with a bright smile as he inspects his cufflinks. “They’re my favorites, although I don’t get the chance to wear them as often as I’d like.”

Barclay knows he'll spend time later thinking on the fact that Stern has become comfortable enough around the lodge to, in a way, literally wear his heart on his sleeves, but for now, Barclay’s put in the position of trying to let Stern know that yes, he also likes men without just coming out and just saying you know, ‘ _oh I also like men_ ’. Finally he settles on a pretty safe route. “I used to have a rainbow apron. I had to throw it away though it uh, it caught on fire.”

Which reminds him, Jake owes him a new apron.

Stern takes a second to respond and Barclay can’t tell if his raised eyebrow is from the revelation that he’s also gay or from the apron story. Maybe both. “Another story I simply must hear,” He replies, leveling him another look that Barclay can’t quite decipher. But before he can think too much on it, the sound of thunderous footsteps bound down the stairs as Jake reappears with Aubrey and Theo in tow.

“Jake says you were laying down some sweet ABBA beats earlier,” Aubrey announces as the three stride over. “You gotta play it again. You know for uh, America? I don’t know.”

And as Stern smiles and turns back to the piano, the sweeping sound of music filling the lobby, the other’s with looks of surprised delight on their faces, Barclay decides that maybe this Monday wasn’t so bad after all if he got to spend it listening to his friend blast out Mama Mia on the piano.

Doesn’t hurt either that he’s gonna get to tell Stern about the woman who was absolutely seething because her taquitos weren’t served with a side of mayonnaise, but he’ll save that for after the song.

 

* * *

 

“And that’s why I believe that the bodyguard is somehow involved with the entire thing.”

In that moment as Barclay continues unloading his laundry from the dryer, he’s glad he he’s not facing Stern so his look of panic doesn’t give away that Stern’s in part figured out the plot twist that doesn’t get revealed for five more books. Keeping his voice neutral, Barclay finally just says, “Interesting” and continues putting his clothes in his bag.

“Not going to let me know if I’m on the right track then?”

Barclay laughs and turns to face him. “Do you want me to?”

From the other dryer, Stern smiles. “Oh absolutely not.”

Since Monday, Stern has truly been trying to let his barriers and masks down to get to know the rest of the lodge. Playing the piano helped and hearing the soft melodies drift through the lobby is now commonplace. His efforts with Aubrey and Dani actually weren’t half bad, although Aubrey did race to Barclay afterwards convinced that Stern knew that she stole Dr. Bonkers and the entire ‘looking for Bigfoot’ thing was just a cover story to arrest her.

Barclay’s not even sure Stern has the power to arrest people, but Aubrey wasn’t convinced he didn't have ulterior motives until she caught him cooing over Dr. Bonkers when he thought she couldn’t hear.

Meanwhile, Dani was starting to warm up to Stern, partially because Aubrey was too and partially because of how dedicated Stern was to not killing his new Devil’s Ivy he had purchased at Dani’s recommendation.

Don’t get him wrong, Stern hasn’t won over everyone and there are still quite a few folks who are more than hesitant around him. But the fact that he’s trying, that he’s willing to present himself as anything other than an FBI agent, that he’s making an effort, well it certainly doesn’t go unnoticed.

“We’ll have to thank Dani for her recommendation of these dryer-sheet alternatives,” Stern says as he looks over the felted wool ball they had put in with their laundry. “Worked quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

And as Barclay opens his mouth, the bell above the door rings out and both men turn towards the door to take in an odd sight.

Standing in the entryway is what looks like a collection of winter wear that has gained sentience and now haunts local laundromats. Barclay can count three knitted caps atop their head, a pair of mismatched gloves barely peeking out from the sweater sleeves and coats, a lumpy laundry bag sat on one hip-

-And a pair of round, red glasses glinting in the flickering fluorescent lights to top it all off.

For a man who doesn’t like attention, he sure does attract a lot of it, like a moth to a light.

“Indrid,” he calls from across the laundromat and out of the corner of his eye, Barclay just catches the way Stern’s eyes narrow as he looks between the two of them. “Surprise seeing you here!”

Well, a surprise for one of them at least.

Behind him, the door creaks closed and Indrid makes his way over to the two of them, expertly avoiding the spilled laundry detergent congealing on the floor without even sparing a glance. “Barclay, how have you been? The Lodge keeping you busy?”

“Oh you know it.” And as he lets out a small laugh, he again catches sight of Stern’s carefully crafted neutral expression as he looks between the two of them.

Apparently, Indrid sees it too, or more likely saw a future question brewing in Stern’s mind, as he sticks out his hand. “Where are my manners? Indrid Cold-” At the name, Barclay flashes through the five stages of grief and makes a mental reminder to kill Indrid later. “-A pleasure.”

For his part, Stern’s expression only falters for a second, his lips parting into a little ‘o’ shape, before it melts back into something more controlled as he shakes his hand. “Stern, nice to meet you. So how do you and Barclay know each other?”

“Old friends,” Barclay quickly interjects before Indrid can say something that would contradict the story he’s told Stern. “We met when I came to Kepler.”

“Ah. Well I’ll let you two catch up then while I put my laundry in the car.” And once Barclay digs out his truck keys and hands them over, Stern nods at the two of them. “Have a good night, Mr. Cold.”

“And you too.”

Then, Bigfoot and Mothman watch as a FBI agent walks out of the dingy laundromat and into the cold West Virginia air.

“Did you have to use your real name?” Barclay groans into his hands as Indrid starts to load his laundry into the drum. “He knows who that is and now I’m gonna have to come up with an explanation for why you share a name with a famous cryptid!”

“Oh you’ll come up with something,” Indrid replies easily and confidently. “Besides, futures where I gave a fake name almost always led down paths where someone slips up and uses my real name. And let me assure you, Stern finding out we lied about my name is far more suspicious than telling him outright and-” He pauses, looks at a black stain on his sheets, and then looks back up to Barclay. “Do I need to pretreat this?”

“Depends, what’s the stain?”

He brings up the sheets up to his face and sniffs it cautiously. “I have no idea.”

Staring at the ceiling, Barclay prays that wherever Sylvain is in the sky that she gives him strength. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you do laundry before. You doing some spring cleaning?”

Indrid tosses the stained sheets into the drum, avoiding looking at Barclay. “Can’t a man want a clean Winnebago?”

For a second, Barclay scans Indrid over before something clicks in his head. With a grin he leans down and before he can even get a word out, Indrid shoots him an exasperated look. “Okay, yes, there is a possibility of Duck coming over tomorrow night. Happy now?”

“Very.” The grin softens on Barclay’s face. “He’ll appreciate the effort.”

Indrid tilts his head slightly towards the door, murmuring something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing!” Indrid chirps with a large grin as he begins digging through his many coat pockets. “Before you go, this is for you.” Indrid holds out a sealed envelope. The smile on his face is gone in an instant, like a sudden wind whipping up from nothing and throwing you off kilter. “Wait to open it.”

And just as Barclay’s fingers brush the paper, the bell above the door once again chimes as Stern walks back in.

“Sorry for making you wait Stanley,” he calls as he quickly shoves the envelope deep into his inner coat pocket. “We can head out now.”

“No need to apologise, I just realised I forgot my coat.”

And as the two of them say their goodbyes and walk out into the cold evening air, leaving Indrid alone in the laundromat, Barclay can feel the question coming before Stern even opens his mouth.

“Is his name truly Indrid Cold? As in the Grinning Man?”

Barclay gives himself five seconds to think before settling on the best, or maybe worst, answer possible. Now could he spend an extra few seconds to think of a better lie? Oh absolutely. But instead does Barclay decide to spend those extra seconds trying to smother the grin forming on his face? Yes. Yes he does. Ignoring Indrid trying to stare him down through the dirty windows, Barclay explains, “Yeah, got his name legally changed a couple years back. He’s always had a uh, a fascination with the Grinning Man and all that. Thinks he’s really cool.”

“Huh.” Stern spends a second just nodding, sparing a single glance inside the laundromat to Indrid who is doing his best to glower from underneath several scarves and a puffy coat. “That is certainly a . . . Commitment to the paranormal few possess.”

Barclay can’t help but laugh at how carefully Stern chose his words, and yeah, he knows he’s gonna hear about this later from Indrid, but honestly? It was worth it. Besides, any thoughts of Indrid leave his mind as Barclay puts away his laundry at the lodge and hears the opening bars of a song on the piano in the lobby.

It is the unmistakable melody of Margaritaville.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Being so preoccupied with teasing your friend by implying he changed his name cause he's a Grinning Man fanboy that you don't even realise that you're slowly falling in love with a FBI agent.
> 
> So the idea for Stern playing the piano comes from ep 8 where Moira says 'That federal agent has been breathing down my neck all evening' because I like to imagine that this was just Stern being like 'Oh fuck that's a nice piano and she plays it so well' but also being like 'Mmm gotta maintain my professionalism' so he just stares at the piano
> 
> Also thank you all for reading and commenting! I love reading y'alls thoughts and keysmashes :)
> 
> Next chapter: Ski day!


	7. Seven Soup Bowls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Amnesty Lodge's first ski day didn't go great, trying a second time and adding Agent Stern into the mix is sure to go much better. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of laundry day, we're getting a fun ski day to soothe the soul. The chapter takes place March the 31st and I hope it brings a smile to your faces :)

Over his lifetime, Barclay has borne witness to many incredible sights-

The deep purples and shimmering silvers of the rings of Sylvain shining down against the backdrop of the black sky beyond.

The first snow of the season leaving a dusting of white across the treetops of Kepler.

The Festival of Fallen Stars when hundreds upon hundreds of sylphs dance in a swirling spiral on the promenade as the best musicians in the land play in time to their steps.

All of these things are truly amazing, some only a handful of people on Earth will ever get to see. However, right now, in this moment, Barclay thinks he might have to add another sight to that list.

When Barclay had thought about the first time seeing Stern in anything other than his standard slacks and perfectly pressed button-ups, his imagination had always supplied him with the image of Stern in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, maybe a short-sleeve if he was feeling _particularly_ wild. Never did the image of Stern in snow pants and a sweatshirt emblazoned with the image of sasquatch with the words ‘Just A Man Who Loves Bigfoot’ written in large bold font underneath ever even peak into the realm of possibility.

“Is it _that_ bad?” Stern asks as he glances down to the sweatshirt, a sheepish smile on his face. “I would offer to put on a different one, but they ah, well they’re all variations on a theme you could say.”

“No, no, no, it’s- Stanley it’s great. Really.” Barclay forces himself to finally look up from the garment to his face. Only Stern could make a cheesy sweatshirt look as good as a suit. “Honestly, kinda sad you’re gonna have to cover it up if you don’t wanna freeze out on the slopes. Speaking of, you got anything else you can use as layers? Pretty chilly out today, don’t want you catching your death out there.”

“Well I have a coat, but I don’t think my other sweatshirts will fit over the layers I already have on. I should be-”

And before Stern can get out whatever reassurance he was about to give, Barclay is pulling his own sweatshirt over his head and holding it out. “Here, this should be big enough to fit over everything.”

Glancing between the sweatshirt and Barclay, Stern gets an odd look in his eye before it melts away. “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t take your sweatshirt-”

“It’s fine,” he interjects, smiling. “I have more in my room.”

Stern looks like he wants to argue, but instead just shrugs his shoulders and then tugs the sweatshirt on over his head. Even with the layers underneath, it's still pretty baggy on him for although Stern might be slightly taller than Barclay, there’s no comparison when it comes to bulk. Whereas Stern is all lean muscle and angles and sharp cheekbones, Barclay looks like someone that Paul Bunyan would think twice about before messing with, then, think a third time, then a forth, take a look at his broad chest and dense muscle and then promptly go home to chop some wood and whip himself up a protein shake so he can be even half as strong as Barclay.

Or at least that’s how Aubrey describes him.

And before Barclay can think to much on how Stern also looks _very_ good in his sweatshirt, Stern starts fiddling with the point on his sleeve where, if he was wearing his usually button-up, his cufflink would be. “Barclay are you sure it’s a good idea for me to come along? I mean, movie night was only a few weeks ago and I would hate to put a damper on the last ski day of the season. I’d be perfectly content to stay here, I need to organize some documents anyways and I’m nearly out of sheet protectors for my-”

“Stanley.”

He takes a breath. “Yes?”

“It’ll be fine. People tend to spread out on the mountain anyway. It’ll probably just be you, me, Dani, Aubrey and Jake, maybe a couple of others, on the beginner slopes.” From out of nowhere, the urge to put his hand on Stern’s shoulder or maybe take his hand in his own, sweeps over Barclay but he quickly shakes it off. Stern seems like a guy who likes his personal space, so randomly touching him? Probably a no-go. “Besides, if you don’t come, I’ll be the worst skier on the mountain.”

The look of faux-shock on Stern’s face is truly incredible. “Oh well now I have to come, don’t I? To prove you wrong.”

“Guess you will.”

And after bundling up with hats, gloves, scarves and jackets, they all start making the short trek over to the Mount Kepler Ski Trails Park. Not everyone goes, Mama staying behind to keep an eye on the lodge and to make sure no one goes wandering down into the basement, others just not big fans of the cold. They eventually arrive, Aubrey ribbing Stern the whole time to show off his Bigfoot sweatshirt, but to no avail.

“Alright dudes,” Jake calls out once they’re all situated with their ski gear. “If you wanna refresh the basics of shredding powder, meet me up at the Slip Dip. Everyone else, know your limits and drink plenty of water, dehydration is totally uncool!”

With that, the group splits up, going over to the various ski lifts to bring them up the mountain.

“It’s not actually called the Slip Dip, right?” Stern whispers, leaning over to Barclay.

“No, no, of course not.”

“Thought so.”

“It’s called the Slippery Dippery.”

The impact of Stern narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow is slightly lost from the bobble hat pulled down over his forehead. “Somehow, even with all the mysteries of Kepler, the names might just be the biggest oddity of them all.” The two of them move up to the front of the line for the ski lift, bracing as the chair comes from behind to scoop them up. “I mean honestly, the Slippery Dippery? The Slurp and Squirt? Wet Willy’s? Who on Earth named these?”

Barclay can’t help but laugh, accidentally rocking the ski lift in the process. “You’re forgetting Kevin Costner Presents: Water World, the Wet Park.”

“Oh I wish I could forget. The Kepler board of tourism really went all out to make ‘Slide Into Kepler’ stick, didn’t they?”

“If you think that’s bad, you should-” And it's at that exact moment that Barclay adds one more mistake onto his long, long list of past blunders.

He looks down.

“Uh, you . . . Um-” They’ve gotta be atleast . . . Nope. No. Actually fuck that. Thinking about how high they are makes it so much worse. Let’s just say, they’re high enough up that if they fell . . .

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Stern asks, probably with that concerned look of his, eyes deep and warm, forehead scrunched up. He can only guess though because Barclay’s currently got his sights locked and loaded on anything but the ground.

“Yeah, I’m uh-” He swallows and taps his foot against the bar, hoping to stop that tingling sensation. It wasn’t this high last time was it? There was more snow or something and god this is a nightmare. “I’m fine, we’re just uh- high. Off the ground.”

Now this is usually the part where people start spouting off some pseudo-comforting nonsense. Yes Barclay knows the chances of falling are slim and yeah, there are safety measures in place, thanks. And sure the-

“Oh dear god we’re high up.”

Barclay whips his head over to Stern, who is desperately trying to clutch onto the armrest and failing miserably due to his gloves. Despite the cold wind nipping at them, his face has lost its color. Whereas before, they had maybe an inch between them on the lift, Stern’s legs now press against his own with a thousand points of contact and Barclay finds his breath all but stolen from him . . .

. . . From the heights of course.

Chancing a glance towards the top of the mountain, Barclay estimates they have another minute on this hell chair before they’re back on solid ground. A distraction. They need a distraction. Something. Anything.

“You ever seen Bigfoot?”

The words are out of his mouth before Barclay even gets the barest chance to think them over. Now, a few months ago, the thought of purposefully bringing up Bigfoot around Stern would have sent him panicking amongst the produce in their walk-in. But now, the worry simply isn’t there. Sure, maybe it’s because the thought of plummeting to his death is overriding everything in his brain, but equally possible is that Barclay knows how desperate Stern is to talk to anyone about the paranormal and if Barclay can replace the poorly masked fear on Stern’s face with a bright, excited smile, well he’d do just about anything.

“Oh I wish.” Stern’s still slightly breathless, sat as far away from the edge as the ski lift will allow, but at least now his eyes are locked with Barclay’s instead of darting down towards the ground. “I have conducted interviews with those who have though, and I believe them wholeheartedly. Do you ah, do you even believe in bigfoot?”

“Nah,” Barclay lies, forcing himself to not run his fingers over his hempen bracelet. “Just don’t think there’s enough evidence. I mean, I’ve lived in Kepler awhile now and I’ve never seen anything suggesting that there’s something out in these woods besides your average bear.”

“Understandable. And while I fully back using empirical evidence to come to conclusions, I must admit, sometimes the most real things in the world are those we cannot see.”

For a moment, both men fall silent and out of courtesy, the wind whipping away at the mountainside does too.

“Stanley?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s a quote from the Polar Express isn’t it?”

Barclay watches as Stern’s face flushes pink. “It’s all my neice would watch one winter. And besides,” he shoots right back. “You’re the one who recognized where it was from.”

“Got me there.”

They’ve got about fifteen more seconds before they reach the top and Barclay can feel his breath evening out at the ground comes up to meet them. “You ready?”

“Yes but if I fall on my face you’re not allowed to tell a soul.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And as the chair reaches the peak, the urge to grab Stern’s hand washes over Barclay like a steady wave coming back to greet him once more. But also like a wave, it retreats just as quickly, leaving him wondering where it came from and if it will return.

“Now?” Stern asks, voice high, and all Barclay can do is nod his head before they both hop off. For a terrifying second, Barclay starts slipping on the ice but a steadying hand comes and keeps him upright.

“What was that about me being the worst skier on the mountain?” Stern teases, his hand not leaving Barclay’s arm.

“It was slippery,” Barclay huffs. “Besides we’ve only just begun. We’ll see how-”

“Move!” Aubrey’s voice calls as the chair she and Dani are sharing comes towards them. “We’re gonna hit you! Move!”

And in an instant, Barclay and Stern are scrambling off to the side, sliding through the snow so they don’t get whacked upside the head by a pair of skis. Now should they be laughing as they violate several ski lift safety rules?

Probably not.

Are they?

Absolutely.

“Think you’re supposed to move out of the way once you get off,” Dani comments, also laughing slightly, as she and Aubrey come over.

“Yeah,” Aubrey chimes in, putting in a little tsk for good measure. “Jake’s gonna be super disappointed that you’re not following the rules of the mountain.”

Speaking of, up the mountain comes Jake and to Barclay’s surprise, Ned too. The later looking apprehensive and then pleasantly surprised as he hops off the ski lift and lands on his feet. The two of them immediately make their way over to the group.

“See dude, told ya you wouldn’t fall on your face! Now, who's ready to learn the raddest stunts and the tightest tricks?”

Aubrey and Dani both let out a whoop that only slightly covers up Ned grumbling out something that sounds vaguely like ‘damn kids’ although Barclay can’t be sure.

They all make their way over to Slip Dip, Barclay keeping an eye on Stern as he gets used to his skis, ready to catch him if he falls.

“Alright everybody, we’re gonna start with some pizza/french fry stuff. Nothing too extreme. Sound good?”

Everyone nods and with that, they start by just practicing the sick stunt of stationary pizza/french fries, Jake coming around and offering advice to those who need it. Aubrey and Dani have moved onto stunt three: scooting forward a foot and then stopping. However, their efforts are impeded by the fact that they keep trying to hold hands as they move.

“How am I looking?” Stern asks and Barclay takes the chance to give him a quick once over. His cheeks and nose are flushed red from the cold, his bobble hat sits crooked on his head, Barclay’s oversized sweatshirt is peeking out from his coat. So all in all . . .

“You look great.”

Stern flashes him a warm smile. “Oh good, I was worried my french fry technique was crooked, but I’ll trust your judgement.”

 

Oh.

 

He was asking about how his skiing technique.

 

Yep.

 

That tracks.

 

God maybe he put on too many layers this morning cause _fuck_ its hot.

 

Off to side, Barclay just catches a glimpse of Ned watching on, a look he can’t decipher with eyebrows slightly furrowed but mouth curling up into the beginnings of a grin. But before Barclay has time to figure out what that all means, Jake calls out to the group to get ready for their first pass down the Slip Dip.

“The agreement still stands that if I fall you won’t tell anyone?”

“Course, though I won’t make promises for that lot.” Barclay nods off to where the rest of the group is preparing, Aubrey and Dani exchanging good luck kisses beforehand.

“Alright dudes, let's shred some powder! Three! . . . Two! . . . One! . . . Go!”

And with that, the group sets off, a far slower and wobblier pace than Jake’s enthusiastic countdown would suggest. All in all though, they’re all not too bad. Aubrey’s really perfected her technique, Dani less so but that doesn’t stop Aubrey from cheering her on. Ned’s . . . Well Ned is trying and that’s what counts. As for Stern, he’s taking up the rear and Barclay glances behind him to get a look.

His movements are careful, as close to calculated as they can be as he slides down a mountain with sticks strapped to his feet. The sunlight bounces off the snow, leaving Stern’s face with a faint glow. He’s looking down at his feet, a proud unguarded smile on his face as he makes his way down the hill and Barclay feels his stomach flip. Maybe he’ll have to add yet another item to his list of wonders cause all of them here together, actually talking and laughing with one another, well it’s a sight Barclay doesn’t think he’ll forget for some time to come. Truly, nothing can ruin this moment.

Unless face planting straight into the snow counts as ‘ruining the moment’.

Barclay feels himself tumbling forward before he sees the snow rushing up to meet him, still slightly turned back towards Stern. Toppling over, the snow on his face is like an electric shock to the system and he barely has time to let out a quiet ‘oof’ before his mouth is filled with snow. In the distance, he can hear Jake calling out to him, but for just a moment, its drowned out by a high pitched yelp and the unmistakable crash of someone else falling into the snow.

“Barclay, Stern, you dudes alright?” Jake calls as he gets closer and at that, Barclay’s head whips up as he scans the snow and- _There_. About ten feet away is Stern in a strikingly similar position, face down in the snow, arms splayed out at his side, probably due to trying to windmill to keep his balance. Lifting his head, Stern spits out a couple of chunks of ice, his nose scrunching up as he does so. He doesn’t seem hurt and Barclay lets out a breath he wouldn’t have even realized he was holding if not for the ache in his chest. Stern locks eyes with Barclay and without saying anything, both men start laughing.

“Think we might be tied for worst skier on the mountain,” Barclay calls as he collects himself, Jake checking them both over and giving them the go-ahead.

“You might just be right.” Stern tries to brush off the snow, but it's truly a losing battle. There’s even little flakes dusting his long lashes. “So what made you fall in the first place?”

“Oh um, wasn’t paying attention.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

“I was ah, distracted.”

And before Barclay can say anything else, he again catches Ned giving them another odd look from the down the slope.

Barclay does his best to put the look out of his mind as they make it the rest of the way down the mountain, thankfully avoiding anymore falls. However, at the thought of braving the ski lifts again, both Stern and Barclay decide that they’ll wait for everyone else in the Mount Kepler Ski Trails Ski Lodge. For some time, they simply warm themselves by the crackling fire, enjoying each other’s company and sipping on mugs of steaming hot chocolate that Eugene brings over free of charge, giving a slight nod to Stern as he does so.

Barclay tries to ignore the pang of . . . _Something_ that curls in his the depths of his stomach at the encounter, instead electing to focus on the story Stern starts to weave about his family’s first ban from a ski resort.

Eventually though, the other’s make it back down the mountain and at Duck’s insistence, they head over to Wolf Ember Grill.

“Alright,” Duck begins as he, Aubrey, Dani, Ned, Jake, Stern and Barclay take their seats. “Startin’ off, we ain’t even gonna bother with menus. Don’t need ‘em. It’s gonna be French Onion soup for the table and you’ll thank me for it, trust me.”

“I don’t know,” Dani starts, her hand sliding around Aubrey’s waist. “Don’t you think you might be overhyping the soup? You know, getting our expectations up too high?”

The look of pure indignation on Duck’s face sends Barclay trying to stifle his laughter. “If anythin’, I’m _underselling_ this soup and y’all know I can’t lie to save my life.”

At this point, Ned jumps in to vouch for the quality of the soup, elaborating on the perfectly browned cheese and the brioche and the heavenly smells. Occasionally Duck will interrupt to stop Ned from spilling Soup Secrets under the watchful eye of Hubert who seems to be silently reminding them all that he knows Krav Maga. All the while though, Stern is smiling and laughing along.

However, like all things, the peace cannot last.

“So Stern,” Ned suddenly starts, turning towards him. “Agent Stern. May I call you agent?”

“Stanley or Stern would work ju-”

“Stanley Stern it is then!”

Barclay finds himself on the receiving end of a slightly helpless look and all he can do is shrug and take a sip of water to try and hide his smile. At least Ned is talking to Stern.

“So Stanley Stern, will you be departing from dear old Kepler soon?”

And Barclay, with a grace and charm that will keep him up tonight, starts to choke.

“Aw beans you alright Barclay?” Jake asks from across the table and he can feel himself go red from all the eyes suddenly on him as he tries to expel the water from his throat. A hand suddenly starts patting his upper back  and he doesn’t even need to open his watery eyes to know its Stern.

He starts coughing harder.

Barclay can’t pin it down, can’t quite get a grasp on the feeling that Ned’s question has imparted upon him, but whatever it is curls and twists around his stomach and clenches- _Hard_. It’s like Ned has just pointed out the elephant in the room that Barclay had somehow managed to miss and its stamping down on his chest like it’s a soda can.

Finally though, he regains his breath and quickly wipes away at his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Are you alright?” Stern asks, hand still a warm weight on his back.

“Yeah I’m-” He coughs. “Yeah I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Are you sure? You look kinda pale?” Aubrey asks across the table.

“I’m alright.” Another cough. Another lie. “Water just went down the wrong way.”

“If you’re sure.” The hand doesn’t leave for a few more seconds and when it does, Barclay finds himself missing it. “Ah, sorry Ned, what was the question again?”

Waving away the apology with a flick of his wrist, Ned leans forward slightly. “Just curious as to when you’ll be saying your goodbyes. I mean, you’ve been here what? Six months now?”

Stern clears his throat. “Seven months come next week actually.”

“Seven months then. I’m surprised your superiors haven’t shipped you halfway across the country investigating some ghoul or other.”

“Well I won’t be transferred to another location until I submit my final report and I don’t . . .” He pauses. “There are still many things to investigate in Kepler.”

Barclay doesn’t look over to Stern as he speaks, instead electing to trace his fingers over the patterns in the wood table. God why is this effecting him this much? Of course Stern won’t be staying in Kepler. He has a job to do and no reason to stay. One day, could be tomorrow, could be next week, he’ll pack up his bags and never come back.

Barclay never could have imagined that the thought of Stern leaving would leave him feeling so empty.

Ned opens his mouth but hesitates, Barclay just barely catching the way his eyes flit over to him, something bordering on concern behind his eyes. “Well,” he finally says, tone shifting. “We can’t have you fleeing Kepler too soon. I’ve got a marvelous new exhibit opening and obtaining a glowing endorsement from-”

“Absolutely not.”

“-a fortified member of the FBI’s Unexplained Phenomenon division-”

“Ned Chicane I will not do that.”

“-would really give a boost to business and besides-”

“That is extremely unprofessional.”

“-If you left too soon, I’m sure our dear Barclay would miss you terribly.”

Stern goes to retort and then the words catch up with him at about the same time they reach Barclay. He whips his head up and locks eyes with Ned who is the picture of innocence. No one has time to comment on the exchange though as Hubert brings over their seven soup bowls.

Barclay will ask Ned about that little encounter later.

“Wasn’t fibbin’, was I?” Duck asks as they dig in and Barclay’s gotta admit, it’s fucking delicious. On the one hand, he wants to get his hands on this recipe so badly, on the other hand, Barclay doesn’t think they can afford losing one of their only Pine Guard members to Hubert’s spinning crescent kick if Duck hands over that recipe. The soup also helps distract him from the feeling he can’t quite place at the thought of Stern leaving.

Next to him, Stern swallows down a spoonful of soup. “That is delicious soup, although I must admit, I think I prefer Barclay’s parsnip soup slightly more.” And then Stern either doesn’t notice the look of shock on Duck’s face or ignores it.

Barclay can’t decide whether the warmth pooling in his stomach is from the soup or from Stern’s compliment.

“Ooh,” Dani starts, a teasing smile on her lips. “Duck’s gonna sick Smokey the Bear on you for that.”

The table erupts into laughter and Duck pulls his hat down further on his head. “Man can have his opinions.”

The rest of the lunch goes by smoothly, and they soon all start heading back down the mountain. However, whereas last time Barclay stuck by Stern’s side, this time he holds back until Ned strolls up beside him.

“Something you need friend Barclay?”

“What was that?” He hisses, making sure the rest of the group was far enough ahead to not overhear.

“I honestly don’t know what you could possibly be referring to.”

“The whole thing about asking when Stern is leaving? And then you were saying how badly I would miss him? What was that all about?”

Ned raises a single eyebrow and pauses, leaning on his walking stick. “Would you not?”

Sputtering for a second, Barclay too pauses. “Well yeah, but that’s- That’s not the point. What about the other stuff?”

“Barclay, I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, I am truly apologetic about the whole ah, _video incident_.”

“Great but don’t change the subject.”

“Ah, ah, ah” Ned wags his finger. “I’m not. See, I did, though unintentionally, benefit from that unfortunate situation. So it stands to reason that I owe you a favor.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Barclay sighs. “Ned, you don’t owe me anything. That’s in the past and besides, wasn’t even you who uploaded the video.”

“Be that as it may, I feel obligated to draw your attention to the fact that your time with our special agent friend isn’t infinite.”

“Some favor that is,” Barclay grumbles and Ned pretends he didn’t hear that, continuing on.

“And as that is case, I thought it best to remind you of this so you may utilize the precious time you have left to tell Agent Stern anything you would like to tell him, anything you want to ah . . . Get off your chest before he departs.”

Barclay’s eyes narrow. “I’m not telling him I’m Bigfoot.”

“Nor should you.”

Both men go silent.

Finally, Ned sighs and leans more on his walking stick. “All I’m saying is that before Agent Stern leaves, it might be beneficial to all parties if you examined the relationship with your friend and ensured its all you want it to be.” Ned starts walking again, but only gets a few steps before he turns around and in pure years, Barclay has Ned beat, no question. But in this moment, Barclay feels that Ned is older than him, giving him a look as if to say ‘ah the foolish youth’. “I, of course, have _absolutely_ no experience on the subject, but believe me when I say, if you wait til he’s long gone, you’ll regret it. Trust me.”

And with that, Ned ‘Trustworthy’ Chicane continues down the trail, leaving Barclay standing there wondering _what the fuck_ he’s talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never gone skiing in my life so literally all my ski knowledge came from that one amnesty episode. Also, atleast according to some website I looked at, March 31st actually is the last day of the ski season in parts of West Virginia. Finally, we have not seen the last of Stern's sweatshirts, trust me.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting! It always brightens my day to see a gmail notification from ao3! I've been waiting since yesterday to post this until after ep 28 came out in case we all needed some fluff in our lives and uh, think that was a smart move on my part.


	8. Six Times The Telephone Rang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that moment, there in the kitchen, on an April evening, the smell of chocolate wafting up from the oven, Stern wearing a cheesy Bigfoot sweatshirt and holding out a chocolate buttercream covered whisk attachment as if it was a flute of champagne, Barclay with a Keep Kepler Strange apron tied around his waist, the last rays of sunlight barely peeking through the monongahela to say goodnight, this is when Barclay realises something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Here we go with chapter 8 a lot sooner than I expected! I hope you all enjoy it as I've been so excited to write this chapter since I started planning everything out. 
> 
> The chapter takes place April the 7th and just a quick warning: There are descriptions of injuries but they are not graphic and I'd say are inline with descriptions of injuries we've heard from taz before. Just wanted to give y'all a headsup.

“I just want to thank you again for allowing me to help with this.”

Barclay doesn’t glance back as he scrubs his hands at the sink. “It’s no problem, really. Having company in the kitchen is a nice change of pace.”

The idea had come up today when Stern and Barclay were waiting for the spin cycle to end on their clothes. Stern had mentioned that his constant movement from state to state for his job, staying in whatever hotel room he could find had not afforded him the opportunity to make his own food in some time. And Barclay knew the feeling. His years on the run didn’t exactly lend itself to anything other than reheating hot dogs he had swiped from the store. The simplicity of being able to provide for himself, to create something and enjoy the fruits of his labor, well Barclay had missed it and from the hints of longing in Stern’s voice, he does too.

And that longing is what has brought them here, standing in soft warm light of the kitchen. Stern’s wearing a plain blue apron that covers the majority of his sweatshirt- This one with a drawing of Bigfoot dressed in the striped shirt and bobble hat of Waldo with the words ‘Where’s Bigfoot?’ in curving script above it.

“Alright, so where should we start?” Stern asks, as he carefully rolls his sleeves up to the elbow. “Even when I did have access to a kitchen, boxed cake mix was really the extent of my abilities, so I’m slightly out of my depth.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll do this together. Won’t be throwing you in the deep end or nothing. Let’s start with getting the ingredients. Can you grab four chicken eggs?”

Stern starts to turn towards the fridge, but then pauses. “Do you have _other_ types of eggs here?”

“What?”

“You specified chicken eggs as if I’d accidentally grab some other type of egg.” He laughs, a sweet sound that fills the kitchen. “I know it’s been some time since I’ve baked, but I do know what type of eggs to use.”

Eyes widening a fraction, Barclay tries to keep his face neutral. To be honest, specifying chicken eggs is a holdover from his time on Sylvain. There, he couldn’t just say ‘eggs’ or ‘milk’ and expect people to know what he was talking about. “Actually, using other types of eggs in cakes isn’t unusual or anything,” Barclay explains, leaning back against the counter in what he hopes comes off as casual. “Duck eggs make the cake fluffier and rise higher than chicken eggs cause of their higher fat and protein. Pretty good in meringues too, but I think that might be getting ahead of ourselves.”

Stern listens with rapt attention, seeming genuinely interested in his explanation. “I had no idea. Should we not use duck eggs then?”

“Don’t have enough unfortunately, otherwise we would.”

“Ah, well I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to going to get some next time we bake. I don’t think I’ve ever even had a duck egg.”

At Stern already wanting there to be a _next time_ , Barclay smiles a crooked grin, his mind racing to come up with other recipes Stern would enjoy.

They go about gathering the other ingredients, weaving around each other and only occasionally bumping into one another, laughing when they do. Honestly, Stern is a great partner in the kitchen, measuring out the ingredients with a meticulousness and focus that Barclay has come to so admire in him. Well that and how incredibly smart he is- Barclay’s seen how fast he can finish those crossword puzzles. Oh and of course his passion and-”

“Ah Barclay?”

That snaps him out of it, realizing that Stern had been trying to get his attention. “Oh sorry. What’d you say?”

“I was just wondering if this is mixed well enough?”

Barclay glances into the bowl of dry ingredients. “Looks great. We can start incorporating the liquids now.” And as Stern turns to grab the other bowl, the soft light of the kitchen catches a streak of flour smeared across the curve of Stern’s cheekbone just below the rim of his glasses.

Well, he can only be so meticulous, Barclay supposes.

“Here, you’ve got some flour right-” And Barclay’s hand, rough with scars and calluses, reaches out to brush against Stern’s smooth skin like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he’s done this a million times before and a million times more. But the thing is, they haven’t. In fact, Barclay and Stern have never even touched skin-to-skin, not a brush of hands while loading laundry, not an accidental slide of skin as they walked past another, and certainly not caressing each other’s faces. And so, with his fingers no more than a breath away from Stern’s cheek, Barclay stops, hand still hanging in the air.

Stern’s breath stutter’s in time to Barclay’s heart.

“Oh um, thank you.” Stern’s voice comes out quiet and he quickly drags his hand across his cheek, leaving a streak of white across his palm.

Nodding, Barclay gives a tight-lipped smile as he lets his hand drop to his side. “Welcome.”

And as the ingredients begin to blend together, they fall back into an easy conversation, the quiet murmurs mixing in with the tick of a clock and the footsteps against hardwood and the wind whispering against the windows to be let in.

These are the soft sounds Barclay tries to focus on rather than the pounding of his own heart hammering away behind his ribs.

Finally, they finish the cake batter and it's easily divided into three pans and placed in the oven. “Alright, so these will need about thirty minutes to bake. Meantime, we can be making the frosting. Warn you now though, soon as folks start smelling the cake baking, we’re gonna be overrun in here so time is of the essence. If this frosting isn’t well hidden in the fridge by the time they get down here, it _will_ be gone, trust me.”

“I have six siblings,” Stern replies easily as he grabs the ingredients. “I’ve seen firsthand what happens to unattended food.”

“Hmm, but I’ve also seen your sweet tooth, bet at least some of those stolen sweets ended up in your pocket as a kid.”

“I won’t confirm nor deny that, although I will say that _if_ I do have a sweet tooth, your rhubarb crumble would certainly not be helping the situation.”

“Oh so I should stop making it then, huh?”

Stern’s eyes narrow and Barclay lets out a heavy laugh from deep in his chest. “If you stop making rhubarb crumble then I’m going to have to figure out how to make it myself and I can assure you now, it will be nowhere good as yours. In fact, I’m quite sure I could travel the world and never find a chef even half as good as you.”

Blinking once and then again, Barclay focuses his attention on the mixer before him so that Stern won’t be able to see the red on his rise cheeks at the sheer sincerity of the complement. He swears he never used to blush this much.

“Thank you, but uh, if you ever do want to use the kitchen, feel free. I mean, if I’m in the middle of the lunch rush, maybe you’ll have to wait a sec, but you know, don’t feel like you gotta ask permission or anything.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you. It has been nice to cook again after so long.” He goes silent for a moment and out of the corner of Barclay’s eye, he catches him playing with the edge of his apron. “And ah, would you like to cook together? Again?”

“I would love to.”

And then Stern smiles, not one of his polite put-upon smiles he used to plaster on his face, but a full on grin making a dimple form on his left cheek. The smile reaches up to his eyes, so deep that Barclay thinks he could fall in and so warm that he knows it could light him aflame if he allowed it.

Barclay’s staring now, he knows it. “You want one of these?” he finally says, holding up one of the frosting covered whisks from the stand mixer, just so he has an excuse to break eye contact.

“This still doesn’t prove I have a sweet tooth,” Stern takes the offered whisk. After a second, he holds it up. “Cheers?”

And it's that moment, there in the kitchen, on an April evening, the smell of chocolate wafting up from the oven, Stern wearing a cheesy Bigfoot sweatshirt and holding out a chocolate buttercream covered whisk attachment as if it was a flute of champagne, Barclay with a Keep Kepler Strange apron tied around his waist, the last rays of sunlight barely peeking through the monongahela to say goodnight, this is when Barclay realises something.

This is the moment he realises he is in love with Stanley Stern.

It's almost like looking at an optical illusion for so long, unable to see anything but individual bits and pieces that form nothing to his eye. And then, without warning, without some grand earth-shattering event, he focuses, and he _sees it._

And once Barclay sees it, he can’t stop seeing it, can’t stop wondering how he didn’t see it all along.

Barclay allows himself a quiet, sharp intake of breath at the revelation before holding up his own whisk and tapping it against Stern’s. “Cheers.”

Making sure none of his thoughts breach the barriers of his mind, Barclay tells Stern that he needs to go take a shower, and that he’ll meet him back here once the cakes are cooled to frost them.

He walks down the hallway towards his room, nodding to Dani as he passes her before finally opening his door, stepping inside, and carefully locking it behind him.

And once he’s in the privacy of his room, Barclay lets his inside thoughts leak out.

“What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?” He whispers to himself harshly as he paces the room.

 

In love with Stern.

 

He’s in love with Stern.

 

_How_ did this-

 

_When_ did this-

 

Taking a breath, Barclay tries to collect his thoughts, tries to examine the individual puzzle pieces that have formed into the concept that he is in love with Agent Stanley Stern, FBI.

So first off, yes, Stern is attractive, but Barclay’s not sure how convincing that piece of evidence really is. Stern could walk into any room and the first three thoughts anyone would have about him are ‘tall’, ‘handsome’, and ‘neatly dressed’, that’s just an objective fact.

And sure, Barclay enjoys being around Stern and misses him when he’s off exploring Kepler, but who wouldn’t? He’s fiercely intelligent and has no shortage of interesting stories. Talking to him about theories for the books they’re reading is always a delight, and he never fails to make Barclay laugh. Not to mention, the underlying dorkiness with all his sweatshirts and his audiobooks that his well pressed suits and shined shoes cannot hide.

Then there’s the touching- the desire to intertwine their fingers as their clothes spin in circles behind them, to place a hand on his shoulder as he plays piano, to pull him into a warm hug and just breathe in the smell of his laundry detergent and cologne- All thoughts that have flit through his head but he never allowed to become more. But now? Now that Barclay is letting them stay in his head for longer than a second, the floodgates have opened and his mind is filled with all sorts of other things he could do with Stern.

His lips are probably incredibly soft  . . .

Oh.

Alright. So he’s in love with Stern.

But what is he going to do about it? Maybe when they’re eating cake some frosting will get on Stern’s lip and Barclay can go in and say something like ‘I’ll get that for you’ and kiss him? That’s romantic right? Or a walk in the woods? Stern loves those. Maybe-

And in an instant, the pacing immediately stops and Barclay just stares at himself in the mirror hung above his dresser.

What he is _doing_?

Being in love with Stern, wanting to hold him close and share some sleepy morning kisses and make him breakfast in bed, none of that changes the reality of the situation.

Stern will leave.

Stern will leave and never come back.

Barclay’s feelings don’t change that fact. Unexplained Phenomenon isn’t going to let him stay in Kepler forever, especially since, as far as Barclay can tell, he’s found absolutely nothing to report in. It’s like Ned said, his time with Stern is far from infinite. One day Amnesty Lodge will be nothing more than a blur in his rearview mirror. So this? Of imagining what it would be like to be something more with Stern . . .

It will just make it hurt so much more when he leaves.

And that’s nothing to say of whether or not Stern even feels the same!! Yeah Barclay knows he’s also gay and also single, but he can’t just assume that means he’s attracted to him too.

He huffs out a short breath, dragging his hand down his face. He needs fresh air. A walk to clear his head so he can figure out what to do. Usually he’d go to Mama for advice but god knows he can’t do that. Thinking about the look on Mama’s face if he told her he’s in love with Agent Stern makes Barclay wince as he pulls out a coat from his closet. She’d probably ask if he’d lost his mind. Maybe recommend getting on one of those dating sites if he really wanted a relationship. Shoving his hands deep in his coat pockets, Barclay starts to make his way to the door, his mind swirling and cloudy, when his fingers brush up against something.

Pausing, he pulls from his pocket a plain white envelope. Fuck was he supposed to drop something off at the post office? Or- No . . . Indrid gave this to him at the laundromat two weeks ago. Told him to open it later.

In all fairness, it _is_ later.

Getting out a small knife from amongst his dusty cartography tools on his desk, Barclay makes short work of opening the letter. Probably a very early or very late birthday card. Maybe a warning that the Lodge’s pipes have a 20% chance of bursting in a couple of months. Unfolding the paper, he reminds himself to thank Indrid whenever he next . . .

Barclay’s mouth goes dry.

His breath barely more than a whisper on the verge of becoming a scream.

Hands trembling, Barclay wants to desperately look away, but finds he can’t. If he looks for just a second longer, he can find the joke. The little scribble of April Fools. Something, anything to give him an answer.

He finds nothing.

In a flash, Barclay scrambles towards the phone on his nightstand, fingers feeling huge and clumsy as they shake and punch in Indrid’s number.

After three rings, the phone is picked up.

“Dave’s Dehumidifier Depot, how can I-”

Barclay slams the phone back down on the receiver without bothering a cursory ‘wrong number’. Once again, he punches in the number, taking care this time to even his breathing and put in the right one before it once again starts ringing.

_Ring!_

“Pick up pick up pick up.”

_Ring!_

The sound of the piece of paper wobbling in his grip seems to drown out the phone.

_Ring!_

“Please Indrid. Please pick up.”

_Ring!_

A mistake. This has to be a mistake.

_Ring!_

“Please.”

_Ring!_

_Click!_

Oh thank god.

“Hello-

“Indrid,” Barclay rushes to say, voice tight and low. “What the fuck is this dra-”

“-I’m most likely out at the moment. So please leave a voicemail. And yes, you _do_ have to leave a voicemail. I cannot decipher your intent from just-”

Barclay hangs up, stifling the urge to scream.

Okay. Alright. If Indrid isn't in his Winnebago, where else could he be? Maybe that new craft store down on Apricot street? Or Leo’s? Could be-

Pausing for just a second, Barclay realises he knows exactly where Indrid must be. Flipping through his personal phone book, he doesn’t have to look far to find the number he’s wanting. Not like he meets enough people to have pages upon pages of numbers anyways.

As he dials again, his hands are still slightly shaking and he prays to Sylvain and Earth and any other planet that will listen that he picks up.

And maybe they do, because this time, the phone only rings twice before someone answers.

“Go for Duck, how can I-”

“Put Indrid on the phone,” Barclay interrupts, barely even feeling any guilt. “Please.”

The line goes quiet for a second. “Indrid? Indrid’s not uh, fuck, not here? Who’s Indrid? Never ever heard of-” Another pause. “Yeah alright here he is.”

There’s some shuffling as the phone gets passed and Indrid can only get out a quick, “Hello Barclay, how-” before Barclay butts in, emotions running to high for pleasantries.

“What the _fuck_ Indrid?”

“Ah,” he takes a breath. “You’ve opened the letter, yes? In most outcomes you opened it the night I gave it to you but-”

“I don’t care what I did in most futures. What- What is this?”

“Unfortunately, what it is, is a possibility.”

Phone still pressed to his ear, Barclay brings up the paper from his side, crumpled slightly from his tight grip. It’s a drawing, done in sweeping arches of graphite across the page. Immortalized in the press of the pencil, is none other than Stern. He’s lying on the ground, drawn from the perspective of someone leaning over him.

And he looks _terrified_.

His mouth is frozen in the start of a scream, eyes wide, one sporting the beginnings of a nasty bruise. His glasses aren’t just cracked, but snapped in half, barely staying on his face. Blood trickles down from his nose and onto his busted lip. Smears of dirt and sweat sweep across his face and Barclay tries not to focus on a particular smudge on the curve of his cheekbone. One hand is pinned to the ground, the other is trying to shield his face, scrapes running across the palms and only stopped by what Barclay can only assume is a burn from the puckered skin. His perfectly pressed suit is torn and muddied. One of his cufflinks is gone.

Barclay wants to vomit.

“Why . . .” he breathes out. “Why did you give this to me? When does this happen? I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Barclay, I know that you and Agent Stern are . . . Close. I thought that informing you of the danger he might find himself in would be the best course of action. I know it’s upsetting. It was unpleasant to draw. However, keeping the drawing from you led to worse outcomes. Trust me. ”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out but a stifled breath

“As for when this will occur, it’s hard to pin down. Sometime this month most likely? It’s a tricky one that’s for sure. More of a snapshot of the moment than anything. What will lead to this event and the events that come after are as obscured to me as they are you.”

Barclay takes a second to breathe and take it all in. “Okay. So sometime this month? So it’s an abomination right? I’ll just make sure he doesn’t go out alone or keep him in the lodge, or something.” Barclay knows his words are getting faster and faster, blurring together until they’re barely anything. “Besides, futures change all the time. Maybe this one won’t come true? I’ll keep him safe. I won’t let this happen to him. I’ll kill the abomination before it gets to him.”

The line goes quiet, a single sigh breaking through.

“Barclay,” Indrid starts. His voice soft and low, full of apologies yet to come. “I don’t why this happens, what the instigating action is, but I do know that an abomination is not the cause of this . . . ”

And as he speaks, Barclay chances one last look at the paper and as his eyes scan over this drawn nightmare, they catch one detail he didn’t before.

The other arm in the picture, the one pinning Stern’s wrist to the ground, it has something wrapped around its own wrist-

 

It has on Barclay’s bracelet.

 

“ . . . You are.”

 

He takes a breath.

 

Then another.

 

And another.

 

And another.

 

And-

 

“Barclay wait don’t hang up the-”

The phone is slammed down onto the receiver so hard that later, Barclay will be worried he cracked it.

Not now though.

It’s not possible. It’s just . . . No. Absolutely not. He would never hurt Stern. He would never hurt anyone.

Not anymore.

Taking another shaky breath that doesn’t seem to get nearly enough oxygen to his lungs, Barclay tries to stride towards the door, but finds his knees wobblier than he expected.

Next to the bed, the phone starts ringing.

At that, Barclay forces his feet forward, leaving his bedroom as fast as possible, drawing still clutched tight in his grip.

“Hey Barclay is that chocolate cake I smell?” Aubrey calls from down the hall. “Cause as assistant manager I think- Whoa are you okay dude?”

He nods his head, blinking once, not stopping as he heads towards the lobby. “Yeah. Fine. Just- Yeah I’m fine.”

Aubrey yells something out after him, but the ringing in his ears has become to loud for him to hear anything. Not the thud of his footsteps or the harsh inhales of his breath or the beat of his heart stuttering away in his chest. Nothing.

Finally, he reaches the hearth in the middle of the lobby and Barclay is already tearing up the drawing before he reaches it. Luckily, the fire is ready and roaring so all he has to do is toss in every last scrap and watch as they blacken and curl and burn.

“Hey uh, Barclay?” Dani calls from across the lobby, but he doesn’t look up from the flames. Every piece has to burn. “Indrid’s on the phone for you.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“Oh. When’s a good time for him to call back?”

Barclay watches at the last scrap of paper turns to ash and he finally stands up from the hearth and starts making his way back to his room. “Don’t know. I’m- I’m not feeling well. Can you tell Stern to frost the cake without me?”

Forehead scrunching up, Dani gives Barclay a concerned look. “Sure, I’ll make sure to tell him. Do you need anything? I can make you some tea?”

“No, I um, I’m just gonna go to bed. Goodnight.”

And before anyone can say anything more on the subject, Barclay retreats back to his room. The phone is immediately taken off the hook and he strips down, climbing under his sheets like that will block out the rest of the world.

He feels exhausted and scared and angry and confused, the mental toil of the day catching up to him and overtaking him in a single wave that threatens to drown him. However everytime he closes his eyes, that picture of Stern is there to greet him. The drawing could have even been of a complete stranger and it still would have shook Barclay to his core. He would never hurt anyone. So seeing Stern like that? Knowing that he will hurt him and-

Actually.

No.

Not _will_.

He will never do that.

Futures are not set in stone. They can be changed. And Barclay _will_ change this future.

That’s a fucking promise.

Hours later, when he wakes from a sleep that is not a deep one, but it is dreamless and he counts himself all the luckier for it, he shuffles downstairs into the empty lobby. The fire in the hearth is long since dead, its ashes cold. Going to the kitchen for a snack, he opens the fridge and pauses.

On the top shelf is a single piece of chocolate cake, the frosting put on with obvious care although there are still mistakes here and there. On the plate is a little note, written in a small neat font, ‘For Barclay: Hope You Feel Better’

And Barclay just smiles.

He can’t make Stern stay

But by all the stars in the sky, he can make sure he’s safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right folks, that angst tag is finally coming into play (but also remember the happy ending tag don't worry). I'm really excited for you all to read the next few chapters and I've already got the entirity of chapter 9 written out and chapter 10 isn't far behind, so hopefully I should get the next chapter posted soon. Again, thank you all for reading and commenting :)
> 
> Fun fact, the line about the first three things anyone would notice about Stern is a reference to the first time Stern is introduced in the show cause literally 'tall, handsome and neatly dressed' are the first three things Griffin described Stern as so never forget that Stern is canonically handsome cause I sure won't.
> 
> Next up: The abomination arrives.


	9. Five Seconds of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In all the other times the abominations have come to Kepler, keeping Agent Stern away from the truth had been rather easy. Agent Stern wasn't even aquaintances with anyone at the lodge and their odd absences were never noticed. However, now that he and Barclay are friends, although Barclay may dream of more, the Pine Guard's job just got a bit trickier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with chapter nine, I'm straying farther and farther away from canon with this fic and I'm having a great time! This chapter takes place April the 14th and April the 16th and as always, Barclay is a big ol' pining fool. Again, there are descriptions of injuries and a fight scene, but its not graphic. Just wanted to let y'all know!
> 
> Enjoy!

The world is dark, the moon is full, his bed warm and there is no where on this planet nor the next where Barclay would rather be.

The thoughts and worries which creep and crawl through the crevices of his head during daylight are simply gone, the cool night breeze from the open window driving them away while also beckoning Barclay to step out under the blissful black of the night sky. However tantalizing the thought is, Barclay shrugs it off, instead turning over in bed to face away from the window and-

And comes face to face with Stern.

“Uh, hey?” he whispers out, his words nearly carried away on the breeze. Stern simply smiles, his head resting on one of Barclay’s pillows, blankets draping across him. In a way, it's almost funny how something so odd, so out of the ordinary can be accepted so easily if you want it to be real.

And as Stern reaches out a hand to cup the back of his neck and pulls himself closer, thumb curling across his skin, Barclay wants it to be real so badly that he doesn’t even question it as the distance between them becomes nothing more than a memory. The press of Stern’s lips against his own overwhelms every other thought in his head. They are soft, just the way Barclay imagined them and they taste of coffee creamer. Bringing up his hand to stroke through Stern’s hair teases out a slight gasp and Barclay takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

With a shift and a tangle of legs, Barclay finds himself underneath Stern, the kiss never breaking. Hands slide down shoulders and across the planes of Stern’s back and Barclay is only vaguely aware that neither of them have stopped for a single breath, yet he can still take in the smell of Stern’s laundry detergent.

Truely, there is nowhere Barclay would rather be at this moment. They fit together so perfectly, no awkward nose bumps, no numb limbs under Stern’s weight. It’s everything Barclay has been so desperate for but wouldn’t allow himself.

And by Sylvain he’s going to savour this moment.

Flipping them over, Barclay begins to trail down Stern’s neck. He lavishes attention on a particular spot under his right ear, sucking harder as Stern gasps. Then, Stern tugs at his head, urging him back up for a kiss and how could Barclay deny such a request? Eyes closed and holding one of Stern’s hands in his, he kisses him breathless. Barclay gives a playful nip to Stern’s lip and before he has the chance to dive right back in, the unmistakable taste of copper bleeds across his tongue and he draws back.

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to make you bleed. Here let me-” And then Barclay opens his eyes.

The birds outside fly away at the sound of his screams echoing through the room.

Stern is underneath him, bloodied and bruised with broken glasses. The hand which Barclay swears he had been holding moments ago is now pinned underneath his fierce grip, the other trying to shield himself. The bed beneath them is gone, replaced with the forest floor that has stained Stern’s clothes. With a gurgling breath, blood dripping out from his mouth, Stern looks up at Barclay, eyes wide and whimpers out-

“Why?”

And then Barclay jolts upright in bed, a silent scream threatening to rip itself out of his throat. Oh god he hurt him. He hurt Stanley. He promised he would never hurt him. Never hurt anyone. Where is he now? Is he okay? Is he . . .

Taking in a gulping breath, Barclay can still smell the scent of Stern all around him and he nearly gags. The light of the moon just barely breaks through his drawn curtains, illuminating his hands as he stares down at them and . . . And they’re clean. No blood. No dirt. Just his hands. Another breath, held and then exhaled.

A nightmare.

Nothing more than a nightmare.

He looks down at his sheets, now soaked through with sweat. Stern had let him borrow his detergent when they had done their laundry today as Barclay had forgotten his at home. Still tangled in the sheets, he takes in another breath.

They smell like lavender.

They smell like _Stern_.

Without another thought, Barclay stumbles out of bed, his boxers still plastered to his skin with sweat and removes every last sheet and pillowcase until the bed is bare before him. Even then though, the idea of going back to sleep sends a shudder through him and instead Barclay makes his way to the sliding glass door that leads onto his balcony. The cold night air is a welcome reprieve and he simply sits down on the wood as he gazes out at the nearly full moon above him. Two days. They have two days until the abomination comes and on top of that, the thought of Indrid’s prediction coming true has left Barclay with more sleepless nights than just this one. The others still don’t know about any of it, as if saying it outloud will make it a certainty rather than a possibility. He almost wishes that the abomination will be some sort of shape-changer, like in The Thing that Ned showed on Saturday Night Dead a few weeks ago, that its not Stern at all in that drawing, but just something that’s taken on his face.

That seems unlikely though.

For a second, the thought to call Indrid pops up but Barclay quickly pushes it back down. Indrid said it himself, he doesn’t know what lead up to his vision or why it will happen. He can’t tell Barclay anything he doesn’t already know. And even if he could, the thought of Indrid confirming his fears, of letting him know that in every single vision that terrible future comes to pass, well they weigh on him like manacles every time he goes to pick up the phone.

So instead he sits on the balcony, the waxing moon the only blemish to the sky, and thinks back to his dream. Because up until the end . . .

. . . God it had been a nice dream.

 

* * *

 

“Barclay look out!”

Two days later, the abomination is here and it's a fucking asshole.

Currently, Ned, Duck, Aubrey and Barclay are essentially trying to fight the goddamn wind. A ball of light sits at the abominations center, guarded by a swirling vortex of flower petals, leaves and grass that would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t currently sending a howling gale of wind roaring right for him.

Trying to dodge out of the way, Barclay’s only seconds from clearing the blow before it comes and barrels into him. He’s hauled off his feet and hurled straight into a tree. A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder, slightly numbed by the new pain arching through his nerves as he crashes into a patch of brambles below.

In front of him, Aubrey plants her feet firmly on the ground as the wind batters against her. Her hands begin to come alive with fire before a yell from across the clearing stops her.

“Don’t use fire! Wind will blow it into the trees!” Ducks voice echoes, nearly drowned out by the howl of the April air whipping around them.

“Fine!” Aubrey yells back. From her pocket, she pulls out Snitch and in one fluid motion, flings it forward. Barclay traces it’s deadly path through the air as it careens towards the abomination. Then, as easily as a summer breeze changes direction, the knife comes shooting back towards them on a gust of wind. Aubrey flings herself at the ground as it rockets towards her-

-And right at Barclay.

The knife just grazes his left arm and with a clunk, lodges itself in the tree bark behind him. Gritting his teeth, Barclay goes to stand and ignores the pain once more. Across the clearing, Ned levels his narf blaster as Duck surges forward with Beacon drawn. However, another fierce gust of wind sends Duck flying through the air and right into Ned, the shot firing far into the night sky to become nothing more than another star.

Then, with a breeze that rustles across the grass in what could almost be a laugh, the abomination is gone with the wind.

“Everybody alright?” Duck calls across the clearing.

Ned groans. “I would be if you would oh so kindly get off me.”

“Oh uh, sorry.”

Coming over to the tree he had been thrown against, Aubrey offers a hand. “Sorry my knife, you know, nearly made you a bigfoot shishkabob.”

“It’s fine. I’m just a bit rusty. Haven’t been on a hunt since August.”

“Nah man, ya did real good,” Duck assures.

“Mmmmmm yesssss,” Beacons nasally voice suddenly interrupts. “Your foe was surely frightened by witnessing a man of your mmmmmm- stature, flung through the air like a can of soda~”

Aubrey looks like she wants to say something, but stops herself.

“Ah don’t listen to him friend, not much you can do against the wind, hmm?” Ned’s tone comes off as oddly jovial for a man who just got hit with a forest ranger to the gut, but Barclay could honestly do with some positivity. “Speaking of, we don’t happen to have a how-to guide on slaying the wind, do we friends? Any ideas, perchance?”

“Big jar.”

“Wind turbine.”

“Pollution.”

“Vape pen.”

“Smoke grenade.”

“Fire.”

Duck shoots Aubrey a look. “For the last time, we’re not usin’ fire. You wanna see the Monongahela go up in smoke? Cause that’s how you make the Monongahela go up in smoke.”

“Look, this bom-bom's made of air right? And air includes oxygen. So with just a-” Aubrey snaps her fingers, sending a tiny spark flying from her fingers. “We could burn the whole thing up!”

As Duck and Aubrey continue to go back and forth, Barclay just sighs. “C’mon. We can discuss it tomorrow. Let’s all just get some shut-eye, alright?”

The others nod and they all start making their way back to the lodge, slowed only slightly by Barclay injuries. They make small talk as they walk, Ned only trying to bring up Stern once but a single tired look from Barclay ends that line of questioning quickly. Eventually, they reach the parking lot of Amnesty and as the rest of the Pine Guard says their goodbyes, Barclay skips all that and just heads straight in, already dreaming of a hot shower. No matter what the others say, he truly is rusty which really doesn’t meld with his whole ‘kill the abomination as fast as possible’ plan. It's fine though. They were unprepared tonight that’s all. Whereas they were expecting reconnaissance, the abomination was gearing for a fight. Which, you know, doesn’t bode well for them. But it’ll be fine.

Everything will be just fine.

“Oh my god!”

Or not.

Barclay slowly turns around to see none other than Stern standing in the doorway to the kitchen, mouth trying to form words that won’t come out and eyes wide and sweeping over him. He was really hoping no one would be up at this time of night but apparently Barclay is cursed and can’t have anything he wants. “Are you okay? What happened?” Stern wastes no time striding over to him and he can’t help but notice how his hands come up like they want to cup his face, but instead just hover awkwardly in the air. “Did someone do this to you? Because I swear-”

At the sudden sharpness that overtakes Stern, the way his voice dips low and dangerous, Barclay puts out his hands in what he hopes is soothing. “No, no, Stanley I’m fine. I just uh . . .” Fuck. Think. Think. Think. Plausible excuse. Simple, easy to swallow excuse. That’s all he needs. “I just got hit by a car.”

Huh.

Alright there brain fuck you too.

“Hit by a-” Stern sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “What did it look like? Did you see any of its plates?”

“No uh, it was dark. Was up at the t-junction coming out of Amnesty and a car just um, came round the bend and clipped me. Sent me tumbling into some bushes.”

Stern shakes his head, jaw tight. “I’ve been meaning to ask Sheriff Owens about lowering the speed limit along that road or putting in better signage and it’s not as if I haven’t had ample opportunities to bring it up . . . I am so sorry Barclay.”

“Whoa, whoa Stanley, it’s fine. Not like you’re the one who hit me or anything.”

“Well either way, just wait here for a moment. I’ll go grab my keys.”

“What why?”

Stern is already making his way across the lobby, but pauses to turn back to him, his tone leaving no room for argument. “To take you to the hospital of course.”

As fast as he can, Barclay closes the distance between them. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. Really, I’m fine. Just a couple of scrapes and bruises, that’s all.”

Also at the hospital they might, oh you know, make him take off his bracelet or note how unusually hot he runs or just ask questions about his pretty shoddy fake ID.

“Barclay you got hit _by a car._ You could have broken bones or worse. You’re _going_ to the hospital.”

It’s a good thing Stern’s got his eyes locked on Barclay at the moment or he would have probably seen Aubrey walk up to the front door, look in the window, see the stand off, and then immediately tip-toe around back.

“I’ve had broken bones before, this ain’t it.”

“You could be in shock.”

“I’m not.”

“How would you know?”

“Stanley,” he sighs. “Thank you but I’m good. Really. It looks worse than it is. The mud isn’t really helping anything.” And to really sell it, Barclay flashes him a warm smile.

Going silent for a moment, Stern worries the inside of his cheek. “At least let me administer first aid. I have formal training and a kit in my room.” Barclay opens his mouth to protest, but Stern continues on. “Please just- Just let me help you.”

And call him a fool, but Barclay just can’t say no.

“Okay.”

Stern sighs in relief, his shoulders slumping down. “Thank you. Now are you alright with being treated in my room? We can do it in the lobby or your room if you would like?”

“Nah, your room’s fine. Long as it’s alright with you?”

“Of course.” Stern starts making his way back to his room, Barclay trailing behind. “It’s slightly messy I will warn you though. I was just up for a glass of water, wasn’t particularly expecting company.”

“No worries.”

And when Stern opens up his door, Barclay is glad he’s behind him so he can playfully roll his eyes without him noticing. If this is ‘slightly messy’ then Barclay’s room is a fucking warzone. Everything here seems to have a place and has been carefully tucked away there. Not a single sock dirties the floor. No crumbs can be seen on the tabletops. Truely, the only thing that could even be slightly constructed as messy is that the bed isn’t made but seeing as it is 1:14 in the morning, that’s understandable.

“You can sit down on the bed, I’ll get the supplies.”

Barclay nods, watching as Stern goes into the adjoining bathroom and he takes the time to look at the room a bit more thoroughly. The Devil’s Ivy that Dani had recommended is sat upon his dresser, looking surprisingly healthy, probably due to how often Stern goes to Dani for advice on how not to kill it. Luckily, she’s always happy to help. Next to it is a portable CD player and Barclay can’t help but wonder if his audiobook ‘Bigfoot: The Big Man, The Big Myth, The Big Legend’ is currently in it or if he’s been in more of an ABBA mood.

His desk is also immaculate, a row of five black binders with labels Barclay can’t make out line the wall behind a sleek laptop that looks like it’s never been so much as bumped. In a cup full of pens is also a small trans pride flag poking up. Barclay smiles.

Finally, on the nightstand is a framed picture of seven people, a slightly younger Stern standing in the center. Although they all look slightly different from the pictures Stern has on his phone, Barclay can still recognize them as his siblings.

“That was the night I got accepted into the FBI,” Stern comments as he walks back into the room. “They all took me out to celebrate. You can’t tell from the picture, but Camile is extremely drunk there.”

“That’s one of your . . . Older sisters, right?”

“Correct, now if you wouldn’t mind, could you take off your shirt?”

Barclay won’t admit it, but previously, the thought of undressing in Stern’s room was always under a vastly different context. Seeing as that particular scenario will never happen, he just nods and goes to undo the top button of his flannel. As he moves though, a slight hiss escapes his lips from the cut Snitch left on his arm. Now the plan was just to grit and bear it through the pain, but Stern, ever observant, catches him.

“I can unbutton it for you, if that’s alright?”

Barclay swallows. “Yeah uh, yeah. Thanks.”

Without another word, Stern kneels in front of Barclay and one by one, begins to undo his buttons.

Neither man notices, but neither of them take a single breath.

They’re so close, _so fucking close_ , but still not touching and as much as Barclay wants to be staring at the wall, he just can’t. Every movement of Stern’s fingers has ensnared his full attention. They move with such precision and before Barclay’s lungs start to ache, they’re all undone.

And as Stern pushes the flannel off his shoulders, Barclay tries to tell himself that the quick slide of his gaze across his exposed chest is simply looking for injuries. Nothing more.

“That’s a nice necklace.”

Barclay quickly glances down to where his crystal pendant hangs over his chest. “Oh, uh thanks.” And before anymore can be said on the subject, he quickly takes it off and rests it on the nightstand, hoping that this will be the last they ever speak of it.

“Could you take off your bracelet too?”

“No,” he says far too quickly and something flashes across Stern’s eyes at the same moment a pang of fear flashes through Barclay’s stomach. “Sorry, it’s uh, it was a gift before I left home. I don’t take it off. Ever.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just work around it while I clean you off if that’s alright?” Stern’s voice comes out soft and all Barclay can do is nod. The room remains quiet as Stern grabs a clean washcloth he dampened with warm water. Before he brings it down on Barclay’s skin, he pauses. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

And with that, Stern brings the cloth across Barclay’s arms with such care it sends an ache through his chest. Travelling the planes of his arms, the cloth begins removing the dirt caked on his skin. Then to the other arm, all the while neither speaks, Stern taking great care to ensure that the washcloth is the only thing that touches Barclay’s bare skin.

“If you close your eyes, I’ll clean off your face too.”

And without a moment's hesitation, Barclay shuts his eyes and tries to repress a shudder as the cloth gently caresses his cheek. The pass over his forehead is better, as is his beard, although when Stern ever so gently sweeps across his eyelids, Barclay’s mouth goes dry. It’s almost like Stern is trying to memorize every curve and line of his face, the press of his fingers underneath the cloth so tantalizingly close yet so utterly far. However, the worst part, or maybe the best Barclay can’t decide, is when Stern gently glides over his lips and the warmth of the rag against him is the most blissful torture.

Barclay opens his eyes and is face to face with Stern, whose own lips are slightly parted. Five seconds of silence follows as they both just stare. “Well,” Stern finally says. “You were right. The dirt did make it look far worse. I’ll just apply some antiseptic and bandage up your scrapes, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah that uh, yeah that sounds good. Don’t wanna keep you too long anyway. Probably ready to head back to bed huh?”

“Perhaps, but it’s fine. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyways knowing you were hurt without any proper care.”

As Stern starts going through his first aid kit, something that’s been staring Barclay right in the face this whole time suddenly clicks in his mind and he can’t stop himself before asking, “Is that my sweatshirt?”

And he really doesn’t have to answer cause, yeah, that’s 100% the sweatshirt Barclay let him borrow for ski day. It hangs off his frame, a few sizes too big and goes past his hips to hang over some well-tailored blue pyjama pants.

“Oh this? Ah, yes. It, well-” Stern starts busying himself even more with the first aid kit as if he hasn’t already pulled out everything he needs. From the light on the bedside table, Barclay can see that his ears have turned a beautiful scarlett. “I’ve been meaning to ah, well wash it and return it to you, but I keep forgetting to bring it along on laundry days. But I will ensure that I’ll launder it this week. In fact, I’ll put it in my laundry hamper right now.”

In an instant, Stern is attempting to pull the sweatshirt over his head, accidentally revealing a strip of skin just above the top of his pants and that Barclay has to tear his gaze away. “Whoa, there’s no rush. Barely even noticed you still had it. You can keep borrowing it. Really.”

This at least makes Stern stop trying to take off the sweatshirt as if it was actively on fire. “Are you-”

“Sure? Yeah. Wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t.”

Slowly, Stern rights the sweatshirt on himself and gives Barclay a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” And as Stern puts on a pair of disposable gloves and tips some liquid antiseptic onto a cotton ball, Barclay tries to push the image of Stern drifting off to sleep wrapped in his sweatshirt from his mind.

“Okay so this might sting somewhat, just let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Will do.”

However, it honestly doesn’t hurt. Maybe it would for a human? Maybe he should pretend to wince? Should he comment that it does sting? No. Probably not. He doesn’t want Stern to think he’s hurting him.

“May I ask,” Stern suddenly starts, eyes focused on Barclay’s injuries. “Why were you out at one in the morning?”

_Oh you know, just trying to literally catch the wind._

Barclay shrugs, getting a quiet huff from Stern for moving. “Couldn’t sleep. Decided to take a stroll, that’s all.”

“Ah, well in that case, if the mood ever strikes again for a midnight stroll, I’d personally recommend staying far from the roads.” He pauses, spends a few more seconds than probably necessary on a small scrape. “Actually, maybe just stay close to the lodge. You never know what could be out in the woods.”

“Oh there’s nothing out there but coyotes, and maybe a bear or two, but they keep well away from the lodge.”

Stern gives a tight lipped smile. “Of course.”

A comfortable quiet begins to fill the room again, like warm water in a bath, and Barclay finds himself relaxing into every touch. It feels too good to have Stern this close, so close to actually touching that Barclay would gladly drown in the feeling. At one point, he stands up to sit on the bed behind Barclay and treat his back too, giving Barclay a slight reprieve from keeping his face as neutral as possible. After a few minutes, the slight rip of bandages being opened temporarily breaks the silence, but ebbs back in as Stern carefully puts one on each of the cuts, coming back around to the front.

“Well,” Stern whispers, putting down the last bandage wrapper. “I think you’re all good now.”

“Great. Again, thanks so much Stanley.”

Neither man moves.

“I’m always happy to help.”

Stern is still kneeling at the edge of the bed.

“Hopefully I’ll be less stubborn next time.”

Barclay just barely stops himself from glancing to Stern’s lips.

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.”

This close, the smell of lavender is everywhere.

“We can hope.”

Stern’s gaze falters for the briefest moment.

“We certainly can.”

And in a moment where his self-control slips from his grasp, Barclay glances down to Stern’s lips.

He immediately regrets it.

For although in the dim light of the room, Stern’s lips are so tantalizingly close, slightly parted and dusty pink, the image that flashes through Barclay’s mind is not of pulling him close and kissing him the way he deserves, but of broken skin and blooming bruises. And so as quickly as possible, Barclay leans back, away from Stern, and grabs his necklace.

“I should really get to bed.” Barclay stands up and Stern only hesitates a moment before following him.

Stern smiles apologetically. “Yes of course, you must be exhausted.” Walking to the door, he holds it open for him. “Goodnight Barclay.”

“Goodnight Stanley.”

And later, back in his own bed still bare of sheets, Barclay ignores the wind creaking against the window- taunting him- and instead stares up at the ceiling, fingers brushing along the curve of his lips. For although Barclay can never have what he wants, what’s the harm in dreaming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ThePlace's recipe for pining: Longing glances + tending to wounds + convincing yourself that the object of your affection doesn't feel the same and even if he did you could never be together anyway + dreaming about making out with your crush + Being bigfoot.
> 
> Next chapter will involve some revelations ;)
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading and commenting!! <3


	10. Four Against One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay's life is falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was originally 10,000 words long so I decided to split it up so chapter 11 should hopefully be out soon cause its all already written. This one takes place April 21st and has some canon typical violence. Speaking of canon, this fic has flown so off the rails from anything even remotely canon compliant in terms of where Amnesty is at now but I think we all already knew that. Hope y'all enjoy!

The sun will set in three hours and fifty-two minutes and after the hazy oranges and crisp pinks drift through the clouds, the darkness waiting behind will bring not only the stars and the quiet comforts of the night, but also the moon in its terrible beauty which will usher in the last chance to kill the abomination.

Barclay isn’t panicking.

Definitely not panicking.

He’s the picture of calm.

So calm in fact that if you look in the dictionary, Barclay’s name would be a synonym for calm, maybe even bolded and underlined a couple of times to highlight just how calm he truly is.

“Not to tell you how to live your life or anything,” Aubrey starts, her legs swinging slightly as she sits on the table. “But you've been dusting the same spot for like, twenty minutes now.”

Okay. So maybe he’s panicking. Just a little bit.

Not looking up from his book, Duck calls over, “I noticed too. Wasn’t gonna mention it though, thought that maybe you could, I don’t know, sense dust that we couldn’t see with our human eyes.”

“You thought him bein’ Bigfoot gives him special dust powers?” Mama asks, voice slow.

“In all fairness to our resident Ranger,” Ned chimes in from the corner of the basement he’s set himself up in. “Young Jake can perform a flip whilst standing perfectly still. Who's to say that Barclay’s sylph origins wouldn’t give him enhanced sight?”

“I don’t have special dust powers,” Barclay cuts in before this can go any further. “And I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just-” He sets down the rag. “I really want to get this abomination.”

They’ve all been down in the basement for a few hours, prepping and planning and in Barclay’s case, panicking. They’ve had a few more run-ins with the wind bom-bom since that first night and they’ve gone . . . Well Barclay wouldn’t say _great_. Killing it already would’ve been great. But they do have more information on it. Not much. But they did find out that it can’t send more than one gust of wind at once so circling around it while someone else gets their ass blasted into a tree has been working really well. A couple more good hits and they should be good. 

They just, you know, have to actually get in those hits before the bom-bom can just fuck off halfway across the country on some westward breeze.

“We all wanna get it,” Mama assures. “And we’re gonna get it. This’ll be the third elemental we’ve gone up against and with the notes from Thacker-” At the mention of his name, Thacker growls from his enclosed area in the corner. Mama sighs. “From the notes we’ve gotten in the past, I’d say we’ve gotta pretty good handle on the situation.”

Aubrey hops down from sitting on the table and comes over. “And, Dani’s already agreed to keep Stern distracted tonight. Gonna ask him to watch Dr. Harris Bonkers and you know he’s gonna take that mission seriously. So, he’ll stay inside and we’ll kill the bom-bom and everything will be great.”

Barclay takes a deep breath. Aubrey has an uncanny ability to get to the root of the problem. “But what about next time? Or the time after that? Stanley’s going to notice if every two months we keep coming back hurt.”

“Could just tell him we keep getting hit by cars.”

Leveling Mama a halfhearted glare, Barclay sighs. “I panicked okay. I don’t think straight when I panic.”

“I never think straight.” A chorus of voices suddenly pipes up around the room and Barclay can’t help but let out a weak chuckle, the rest grinning at the small victory.

“Seriously though, just the other day I slipped and told him my mother was in the guard and then I had to say I meant the national guard and I don’t know anything about the national guard! So then I had to go to the library to check out a book on it in case Stanley asks me about it but he was there, talking to Duck’s neighbor-”

“Leo?”

“No, the other one.”

“Mrs. Pearson?”

“Yeah, but that- That’s not the point. He saw me and I panicked and said I wanted to learn more about pottery so now not only do I have to go read up on pottery, but I _still_ don’t know a single fucking thing about the national guard and it’s going to be pretty suspcious if he starts talking about it and I don’t know anything about the organization I told him my mother was in!”

“Whoa, deep breaths big guy. Deep breaths.” Ned adjusts his reading glasses and closes the book he’d been scanning. “I know things seem- Well not the best. But it’ll all turn out fine and that’s a genuine Ned Chicane promise. Mama- you can teach Barclay a thing or two about the intricacies of pottery, can’t you? And if our special agent friend inquires about the national guard just say you don’t want to talk about it, bad memories and all that hullabaloo. You’ll have to really sell it though if you want him to never bring it up again. Far off looks, lots of sighing, throw in some tears too.” He pauses for a second and starts rifling through his pockets before finally pulling out a small bottle and tossing it to Barclay. 

Scanning the label, Barclay looks up and gives Ned a blank stare. “Fake tears? Really?”

“ _High quality_ fake tears. Stole them from the set of Spiderman. Not the reboots, mind you. The Toby McGuire version.”

“I have-” Aubrey starts. “-So many questions. First though, why do you just carry that in your pocket?”

“Never know when you’re going to need to get out of a traffic ticket.”

“As if you’d even pay a ticket if you got one,” Duck comments and Ned at least pretends to be offended.

As Ned starts to profess how he is an upstanding, law abiding member of the Kepler community, Mama rolls her eyes and comes to lean on the table next to Barclay. “Don’t know why you’re worrying so much about Stern wising up to what’s going on. I mean, he’s been here what? Seven months now? And he hasn’t found a single thing to report in on. Don’t get me wrong, woulda been better to just not have an FBI agent lurking around, but we gotta count ourselves lucky that he hasn’t wisened on to literally anything going on ‘round here.”

“Stanley’s not dumb,” Barclay suddenly says, tone harsher than he meant and out of the corner of his eye, he notices that the others have abruptly stopped their conversation.

Mama raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t say he was. I know the two of you are all buddy-buddy, but that don’t change the fact that it’s an objectively good thing he hasn’t cottoned on to all this.”

“I-” He sighs. “I know.”

“Sooner he gets out of here, the better.” There’s no anger or anything even approaching it in Mama’s voice. Maybe a touch of confusion, a bit of worry, and most alarmingly, a look of dawning realization that Barclay would rather not be on her face. “Right?”

“Sure.”

The look doesn’t leave Mama’s eyes and the silence that follows creates the perfect conditions for them all to hear the phone ringing upstairs as clear as day.

Duck is the first one to tip toe out of the quiet. “Might be Indrid, I’ll just uh- I’ll go get it.”

“It also might be someone trying to call the sex store again!” Aubrey calls up after Duck as he ascends the stairs out of the basement, waving off her concerns. Then, she turns to the rest of them. “We really gotta call them up and tell them they’ve like, got the wrong number on their website or something cause if I have to tell some horny dude one last time that we’re not a sex store, I’m gonna loose it.”

Nodding absentmindedly, Mama turns back to Barclay. “You know when Agent Stern plans on packing up and leaving Kepler?”

“I don’t know.”

The phone is still ringing.

“Seriously, how is he still getting funding?” Aubrey asks, flicking fire between her finger tips.

“I don’t know.”

Upstairs, the phone won’t stop ringing. 

“Where is our special agent friend currently?”

“I don’t know.”

No one’s answered the phone yet.

“Barclay,” Mama starts, her voice soft. “Are you okay?”

“I dont-” And finally, blissfully, Duck answers the phone and it's in that new silence that Barclay cracks. “No. I don’t think so.”

Now Mama’s known Barclay for coming up on a decade here soon. They know each other well. Don’t even need words half the time to get what the other is saying. So when Mama puts a hand on his shoulder and says “Gonna miss him, huh?” what Barclay hears is “I’m sorry.”

And when Barclay simply replies, voice low, “Yeah,” he knows that what Mama hears is “I know”.

The silence is back and no one knows what to do with it. Even the quiet creak of Duck opening the basement door doesn’t even get a spare glance it’s way. 

After what feels like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, Ned clears his throat and calls behind him towards the door.“So Duck, did your paramour have any predictions for tonight's hunt?”

But Duck doesn’t respond.

He can’t.

For although none of them will realize it for another two seconds, Duck isn’t in the basement. How could he be? To answer the phone that fast and then make it down here, he would of had to have teleported. No, at that moment, Duck is standing above them on the receiving end of a prediction that comes ever so late. However, those thoughts don’t reach Barclay’s head under he’s already turning around to the figure standing at the steps of the basement, face shadowed and backlit by the light trickling in behind him.

“Stanley?” 

Dressed in his full FBI regalia- suit jacket, tie and all barring some hiking shoes which stick out like a sore thumb, is Agent Stern and while he could be easily looking at the maps and books they have spread out over the tables, the open doors leading to the panic room or the infirmary or the bottles filled with shimmering liquids from Aubrey’s lab, none of those have captured his attention. No. To Barclay’s horror, Stern is staring straight at the worst thing he could be-

He’s looking right at Thacker.

“Barclay,” his voice comes out low and teetering on the edge of trembling. “Who is that?”

And like a deer in the headlights, Barclay freezes.

“Oh him?” Ned quickly jumps in. “Oh ho, Agent Stern I know how this must look, but fear not! This is simply our dear friend Thacker. He is a method actor and is preparing for the titular role of Hamlet in our upcoming theatre production. He has asked to be locked in this cage to really- embody the Prince’s descent into madness. It’s going to be absolutely spectacular. If you’re still here when-”

“Did you say Thacker?” Stern cuts him off, the tremble in his voice ever present and now his gaze slides to Barclay and he looks . . . Betrayed? Frightened? Confused? Barclay can’t tell. “Arlow Thacker?”

At the mention of his name- his full name- Thacker looks up and growls. This time, it’s Mama who freezes. “How did you-”

“Arlow Thacker is a missing persons case from six years ago, is he-” Stern takes a breath. “What did you do to him? Has he been locked in your basement this whole time?”

“Look Stern,” Aubrey juts in and Barclay is glad because he’s still in no position to speak. “This is all a _huge_ misunderstanding.”

“Then open the door and let him out.”

“We . . .” Aubrey glances to Mama who is staring down Stern, putting herself between him and Thacker. “We can’t do that.”

Stern takes in a shuddering breath and then locks eyes with Barclay, silently begging him to explain, to convince him that this isn’t what it looks like. He wants something, anything, to make this okay. But Barclay can’t think of anything, no lie or excuse which will sweep this under the rug and even though he says nothing, Stern winces like he did. Then, with one last breath, Stern straightens his posture and his face goes neutral and blank.

“Well, then Ms. Cobb, Mr. Chicane, Ms. Little and-” He pauses and swallows hard. “-Mr. Cobb, I am placing you all under arrest for suspicion of kidnapping and unlawful restraint.”

And just like that, Barclay breaks.

“Stanley!”

“You have the right to remain silent.” 

“Stop!”

“Anything you say-”

“You know we wouldn’t-”

 “-can be used against you in court. If you cannot afford a lawyer-”

“-Do this! Please!”

-”one will be appointed for you before-”

“I know you’re scared.”

“-any questioning if you wish.”

“Just let me explain!”

“Do you understand-”

“Please Stanley!”

“-Your rights as they have been so read?”

And then both men are left in a silent standoff, hurt and confused and wishing this was all some nightmare they could wake up from and go back to normal.

But it isn’t.

Finally, it’s Mama who speaks. “You know we’re not going with you, right?”

“Please-” Stern shakes his head, words far quieter than before. “Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“I’m not making it harder, just pointing out a fact.” Mama’s almost too calm, too relaxed and it sets Barclay even more on edge. “Cause from where I’m standing, it’s four against one.”

Stern’s eyes widen, breathing all but stopped.

“Reckon you don’t got four pairs of handcuffs on you, and even if any of your FBI buddies were in the area, can’t contact ‘em, can ya?” Mama takes a step forward, Stern a step back. “No cell service. Can’t even call the cops.”

His eyes flicker to the ceiling and Mama shakes his head. 

“Nah, not gonna find any help up there, Agent. So, here’s what's gonna happen.” She pulls out a chair. “You’re gonna sit down and we’re all gonna sort this mess out. Alright?”

Stern opens his mouth as if to speak but nothing comes out. And then, without warning, his right hand shoots down to his side and from it pulls out his handgun and brings it up in front of him. 

“Oh for the love of- You really just had to go and make things difficult?” Mama sighs.

“In all fairness,” Ned starts, seeming oddly non perplexed at having a gun pointed at him. “It did sound like you were threatening him.”

“Not the time Ned!”

And Barclay really doesn’t know what’s going through the others heads right now. Behind her shades, Aubrey might be looking at Stern like he’s nothing more than a man pushed past the edge. Ned might see Stern as a hardened FBI agent who will do anything for the job. For Mama, he might just be a threat.

But that’s not what Barclay sees.

No, what he takes in is the slight tremor in Stanley’s hands, the way his wide eyes shift from person to person never pausing, how his breathing is quick and shallow. All of it paints not the picture of a merciless FBI agent or a fanatical researcher or a lost cause, but of simply Stanley Stern, scared and confused. And Barclay knows he doesn’t want to hurt them, hell his finger isn’t even on the trigger. So with a glance over to the others, trying to convey without words that Barclay’s got this, he takes a step forward.

Stern takes one back.

“Don’t.”

“Stanley,” Barclay starts, voice low and steady. “Put down the gun. Please.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t lower the gun either. Instead, he takes in a shaky breath through gritted teeth, his hand on the grip of the gun shifting. And then to Barclay’s shock, he yelps out in pain and drops the gun before clutching his right hand. And he can’t help but wheel around to the others. Or really, just to Aubrey.

“Did you just set his _gun_ on _fire?!”_

“No! I just heated up the handle thingy so he’d drop it!”

“Why?!”

“You gave me a look!”

“Yeah a look that meant ‘I had this handled’ not to nearly explode his gun!”

“Y’all!” Mama calls already moving across the room. “You can bicker later, he’s getting away!” And as always, Mama’s right. Stern has already made it up the basement stairs and Barclay can hear the quick crunch of his shoes hitting the gravel. “C’mon, we gotta catch us an FBI agent ‘fore he goes blabbing to the whole town!”

And before anyone has time to even breathe, Barclay is quick to yell out “Wait!” and thankfully, they do. “We all go running after him it's gonna freak him out even more. Let me get him.” He takes a breath, the panic catching up with him. “Just let me get him.”

Mama clenches her jaw, before letting out a sigh. “Alright.”

That’s all Barclay needs before he’s racing up the stairs and after Stern, fueled by the pounding of his heart and the screaming in his head warning him what will happen if Stern makes it to town. It would take too long to move Thacker before the cops arrived and if they find him . . .

Shaking his head, Barclay runs faster towards Stern. If he thinks too long, he’ll plunge into the panic and drown in it. All he has to do is leave those thoughts swirling on the edges of his periphery, to not think about how his life is fucking falling apart, about the consequences looming on the horizon. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. They can salvage this. They’ll just come up with something bordering on the truth about Thacker without having to tell Stern about the gate or him being Bigfoot and then convince him not to report anything to his superiors. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. 

Ahead of him,Stern breaks through the treeline, not even sparing a glance behind him as he starts to dodge between the trunks and duck beneath the branches.  Barclay won’t have long to catch him before he makes it to the main road on the other side. Barely even knows what he’ll do when he catches him.

And it is not _if_ he catches him. 

But _when._  

Stern can run as fast as humanly possible.

Barclay will _always_ be faster.

“Stanley stop!”

This finally gets Stern to glance behind him and although Barclay can’t hear it, he can see Stern’s jaw drop in a gasp as he realises just how close Barclay has gotten, and then starts running even faster as the branches tear at his clothes and whip against his skin.

The irony of Bigfoot being the one chasing the FBI agent through the forest is completely lost on Barclay.

Closer and closer and ever closer Barclay draws to Stern, an unstoppable force barreling through the Monongahela and disrupting the gentle peace the woods had made. However, the closer he comes, the more Barclay realises he doesn’t know what to do when he catches up.

Tackle him?

He’ll have to.

It’s the only way to stop him.

And in that moment before Barclay goes in to drag Stern to the ground, the future plays out before him as if he actually had foresight. He can see it all so clearly- Stern falling to the forest floor, glasses shattering as he crashes into tree roots under Barclay’s weight. Busted lips and broken noses and blood gushing down onto his already stained shirt as Barclay grapples with him in the dirt, trying to pin down his scraped and burnt hands so he can’t lash out . . . 

 

He falters.

 

Indrid’s drawing.

 

This. This is that moment. 

 

The moment where he hurts Stern.

 

He doesn’t want to do it.

 

But it's the only way.

 

Unless . . . 

 

And with a split second decision that sends shockwaves across the future, disrupting the visions set in graphite and paper but not stone, Barclay tears off his bracelet, surges forward, wraps his arms around Stern and hoists him into the air in what could almost be a hug.

It’s not. But Barclay desperately wishes it was.

Stern freezes and for just a moment, the world is still.

And then he promptly starts thrashing in Barclay’s hold, but in response, Barclay just brings him closer, brain going into overdrive.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m sorry. Not gonna hurt you.” Barclay starts murmuring out in a steady stream of words that he barely even registers saying. Now whether its from the actual words or the sound of Barclay’s voice, Stern once again freezes, taking the time to actually look up into his eyes.

“Barclay?”

A single nod.

“How-” He takes a shuddering breath in. “You . . . I don’t understand.”

“It’s- It’s complicated. But you need to know that Thacker, he’s my friend and we didn’t do that to him. He’s-” Barclay feels his words catch in his throat. “Something terrible happened to him and we’re trying to help him. That’s all. You know me-”

At this, Stern actually starts laughing, a high pitched and frantic thing. “I know you? I _know_ you? I just found out that you’re-”

“Bigfoot,” Barclay finishes for him. “Yes but- Stanley, please believe when I say that you _do_ know me. And you know I would never hurt you. Hurt anyone.”

He almost says ‘I love you’ but there are many things this moment is not made for and this is one of them.

Stern pauses and Barclay takes the moment to remember that he’s still holding him high off the ground.

“If I set you down, you promise not to run? To just come back to the lodge with me and let us explain everything?”

After a second, he nods, face blank and hair slightly blown back by the breeze, and Barclay gently sets him down on the ground.

And credit where credit is due, he doesn’t run.

No. Instead, he is flung through the air like a rag doll as a howling gust of wind roars through the trees right for him.

“Stanley!” He screams as the other man crashes into the undergrowth, rolling to a stop a few feet away. Spending a few seconds to watch as Stern drags himself up, Barclay immediately turns to his right to where the abomination floats, gearing up for another gale.

And even though it doesn’t have a mouth or a even a face, the bastard looks smug.

Squaring his shoulders, Barclay stands between Stern and the abomination. “Run back to the lodge. Tell Mama the abominations here.”

“The abomin- Barclay what the fuck is going on?!”

For just a second, Barclay glances behind him to Stern. “Just go! Please! I can’t-”

“Look out!”

And he turns around just in time to see a boulder come flying right for him and he lets out a roar that shakes the trees and scatters the birds as he just barely catches it, turns with the momentum and hurls it straight back at the abomination.

Well, at least Mama probably heard that and will come running with the others and then he can get Stern out of here because no matter what, Barclay’s keeping his promise.

He won’t let Stern get hurt.

Behind him, he hears Stern get up, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the abomination. “This thing’s dangerous! You have to get out of here!”

And then, because Barclay’s life is spiralling down into a never ending nightmare, Stern decides that running away from the otherworldly monster just isn’t his style and instead comes up beside Barclay, breath heavy and a fucking _pocket knife_ drawn. “I’m not just leaving! My job is to-”

But before Stern can go on about his duty to the American government or whatever he was about to say, the abomination sends another burst of wind roaring right for them and Barclay barely has enough time to push Stern out of the way.

“Bit above your paygrade!” He yells over the wind. “Pocket knife’s not gonna cut it! You have to go!”

“And let you fight this thing alone? No!” 

This time when a burst of wind comes barreling towards Stern, he tucks and rolls out of the way with a practiced precision. If Barclay wasn’t both terrified for him and furious at the abomination, he’d be impressed.

“This isn’t your fight! We know how to deal with these things!” Barclay dodges out of the way of another boulder. “You don’t!”

“We?”

And it is that moment that a bolt of lightning arches through the trees, striking the abomination in the back. Letting out an airy screech, it whips around to face Mama, Ned, Duck, and Aubrey whose arm is still outstretched, sparks sizzling off it.

“Get Stern outta here!” Mama calls as she pumps her shotgun.

Barclay turns to Stern. “You heard her! Let’s-”

He doesn’t find out if Stern actually heard her or not. No. Instead, he watches in shocked silence as Stern rushes forward toward the abomination, pocket knife drawn, and plunges the blade past the swirling leaves and petas and right into its core.

This time, Barclay is truly impressed but its quickly overshadowed because _are you fucking kidding me Stanley?! A pocket knife? A fucking pocket knife?_

However, the abomination seems not to care _what_ it was stabbed with as it wails and the sound bleeds into Stern’s own wail as he is flung straight back, landing in a heap on the ground.

Without another thought, Barclay rushes over to him. _Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay._

Just as he reaches him, Stern lets out a groan and heaves himself up into a sitting position. Sticking out his hand to help him up, Barclay can’t stop a sigh of relief escaping his chest when he sees that Stern doesn't look too bad. " _Now_ do you believe me when I say we gotta get you outta here?”

Stern doesn’t respond. Instead, he glances between the offered fury hand and Barclay’s face. Under his gaze, Barclay wants to squirm. Or put his bracelet back on. Maybe even turn back to the fight. Instead, he stays still, waiting for Stern.

After just a few moments pause which feel like a lifetime as the battle rages on behind them, Stern reaches out and takes Barclay hands.

And for the first time ever, Barclay and Stern _touch_.

As soon as the tips of Stern’s fingers brush against Barclay’s palm, he swears the air crackles around them, a live current going through them followed close behind by a shudder as goosebumps race down their skin. They couldn’t look away from each other if they wanted to. Stern’s face seems like its glowing, eyes shining as he stares into Barclay’s.

If Barclay remembered to breathe, it wouldn’t matter anyways. All the air would be gone from his lungs the second it entered.

(And maybe, just maybe, if both of them would take a single second to look away from one another, to let their hearts come back to a steady beat, they would realise that the sparks dancing through the air are literal fucking sparks that branched off from one of Aubrey’s spells, the air charged with electrcity from the lightning she used to blast the abomination to smitherins. Speaking of, the soft glow haloing the two of them had not been created by the power of love, but by the simple shine of the four-armed light being dissolving into the air. However, even if this was pointed out to the two of them, both would still tell a very different story to themselves as they drift off to sleep that night)

And after a few mere moments, Barclay’s brain kicks back on and he helps Stern to his feet. “You uh- you okay?”

Stern doesn’t let go and doesn’t answer either. His gaze dips down to their intertwined hands and Barclay can almost see the gears turning in his head as he compares the size of them. Then just as quickly, he lets go of his hand.

Barclay can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever hold it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from the very begining when I was planning this fic out, I knew I wanted Stern to find out everything due to accidentatly stumbling upon Thacker and it was only by a divine miracle that we found out his first name before I published this chapter so I could go back in and change Jonathan Thacker to Arlow Thacker.
> 
> Anyways, we're here! We've finally arrived to Stern finding out the truth! I honestly haven't really written fight scenes before so this was a fun endevor for me and I'm super pleased with how it turned out. Also, chapter eleven is gonna be a fun one ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. 350,000 Words Yet Speechless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stern knows of the Pine Guard, knows Barclay is Bigfoot, knows everything.
> 
> And Barclay doesn't know what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a little longer than I hoped to get out cause I spent so much time going back and editing, and then my power went out last night but here we go! It picks up exactly where chapter 10 ends so its still April 21 and this was a really fun one so I hope you all enjoy!

The english language contains approximately one-hundred and seventy thousand words. The main language spoken on Sylvain boasts about one-hundred and eighty thousand. Yet, with so many words at his disposal, Barclay has nothing to say. He and Stern are still just standing there in the woods, staring at one another hoping the other has figured out the right set of words to make all of _this_ okay. 

Neither has. 

“Bom-boms dead if you're wondering,” Aubrey announces as the other four come over and Barclay takes the opportunity to retrieve his bracelet and put it back on. “So uh, Agent Stern? You gonna, you know, run away again or can we explain that we’re not like, creepy serial killers who lock people in our basement?”

“I mean technically speakin’ . . .” Duck starts but is cut off by a single look from Mama.

For his part, Stern just nods and they all start walking back to the lodge. An odd sort of silence settles over the group and Barclay can’t be bothered to break it. The abomination is dead. He should be looking forward to a few days off, thinking about what he’ll do with his free time. However, when he tries to think about what’s next, he draws a blank. Honestly and truly, he has no idea what's to come. Stern knows about Thacker, knows Barclay is Bigfoot. There’s no going back now and the way forward is hazy. In fact, everything at the moment is hazy as what seems like out of nowhere they’re back at the lodge descending into the basement. He barely remembers putting one foot in front of the other. He’s just here now. Almost like a dream. But not. More like a memory. Like he’s living life through the past tense.

Finally though, all six of them find themselves sat around the table in the basement.

“Alright Stern,” Mama begins. “I’m sure you gotta hell of a lot of questions, but just let us get through our whole spiel before you start going off, alright?”

Slowly, face still blank, Stern brings up his hand to his right temple and then falters. “My glasses are gone,” he states slowly.

Mama gives him a once over. “Ned, why dontcha get Agent Stern here some coffee. Seems like he could use a cup.” And as Ned gets up to go to the coffee pot they’ve got set up in the corner, Barclay also catches Mama’s eye and before he can say a word, she adds on, “Actually, make that two cups.”

The coffees are ready in no time, Stern keeping his eyes on Ned through the entire process. “Friend Stern, how do you take your coffee? Sugar? Cream? Can I interest you in any milk?”

“No thank you. I prefer it black.”

 _Bullshit_.

Barclay turns to Stern, eyes narrowing. However, he says nothing. Doesn’t say anything either when Stern fights back a grimace at the first sip. Instead, he slowly drinks his own coffee, letting it burn his tongue.

“Alright, Barclay you want me to handle this, or you wanna take a swing.”

Another drink, this time longer. It gives him time to sort through the thousands of words he knows and pick out just a handful that won’t make this all worse than it already is. “I’ll do it.” The others nod and go silent. Aubrey even restraining from flicking fire between her fingers. “So first, that thing in the woods- That was an abomination. Every two months during the full moon, they uh, appear here in Kepler. So us, we call ourselves the Pine Guard, we go out and well, stop it before it can leave town and hurt people. Thacker-” Barclay forces himself to keep his eyes forward, to not glance back at the cage in the corner. “He used to be a member, but he went off to try and find the source of the abominations, but he . . . He got possesed to put it simply. If we let him out, he’ll hurt people. That’s why he’s locked up. We’re trying to help him. Also, uh as you saw, I’m Bigfoot. It’s . . . Well it’s complicated, but I’m an alien. All the residents of Amnesty Lodge are. We’re no danger to anyone, we just- We can’t go home. We were banished, so now we live here. Amnesty Lodge is basically the last safe place we got and uh, yeah. That’s it.”

Stern goes up to adjust his glasses again, pauses, and then takes another sip of coffee. Or at least he pretends to. Barclay’s pretty positive that none actually passes his lips. “Aliens huh?”

“Yep.”

His face is oddly neutral and it throws Barclay off. “At least that explains how you-” he turns to Aubrey. “-Are able to shoot lightning out of your hands.”

“Actually~” She starts, looking almost sheepish. “Not an alien.”

“Huh.” He turns to Duck. “And you? I did see a talking sword? Did I not?”

“I mean, yeah ya did. But uh, that’s a whole ‘nother story. I’m Earth born and bred. Only alien here is Barclay.”

Stern nods again and now his composure is almost starting to unnerve Barclay.

“May I ask, why is it only every two months?”

“That’s a question we’ve been askin’ ourselves for thirty somethin’ years,” Mama explains, leaning back in her chair. “An odd sticking point if I’m bein’ honest though. Thought, I don’t know, you’d be asking more about the aliens. Not the monster’s time table.”

Stern shrugs half heartedly. “It’s just something that I’ve been grappling with myself.”

The basement goes quiet.

Everyone stares at Stern.

He takes another sip of coffee.

“What?”

For the first time since they sat down, Stern meets Barclay’s eyes. “I . . .” He takes a breath. “May I go to my room for a moment? It would be easy to show you all.”

Barclay hesitates a second, wondering if Stern will try to run off again but he quickly dismisses the worry before nodding. Without another word, Stern stands, attempts to straighten his suit jacket, and then walks out.

They make it thirty seconds into the silence before Aubrey tentatively puts out, “Maybe it’s not as bad as we’re thinking?”

Two minutes later, Stern returns with five black binders and in a way Aubrey was right, it’s not as bad as they were thinking.

It’s so much fucking worse.

“Alright, so this one is newspaper clippings,” Stern starts, voice even and calm like he’s giving a presentation. “This one here is transcripts of interviews I conducted. Then we have evidence collected in the field, timeline of events and finally possible connections.”

Barclay grabs one at random and flips it open, not trusting himself with words at the moment. He’s faced with two newspaper clippings. One marks the tragic passing of Michael Green who died in a freak accident when his car exploded. The very next newspaper clipping details how a mine in the hills was burned out that very same week. Another freak accident they say. Between the two pieces of paper is a small note in neat handwriting that reads ‘Not an accident, see B2, pg 7’.

Although Barclay never actually met Mike, he can recognize the face in the picture instantly from the photo hung in Mama’s office.

He closes that binder rather quickly.

The next one is filled with transcripts of interviews. There are a few from Mrs. Pearson and it's right then as he reads her accounts of the odd happenings around town starting in 1988 that Barclay remembers that on top of being Duck’s neighbor, she was also the former _chief of police_. There’s another transcript, far longer than the rest from Eugene recounting his alien abduction. From the questions and comments Stern asked during the interview, it seems he actually believes the whole story.

Explains how they got free drinks.

The rest of the binders certainly don’t get better. There are pictures of the wreckage of H2-Woah That Was Fun, the fallen Pizza Hut sign, the funicular with Ned’s car smashed in front of it, the sinkhole . . . However, the worst is the aerial view of the Monongahela with tiny red dots scattered around the forest and Barclay doesn’t even have to check the coordinates to know that this is the mile radius around the archway.

“Holy shit you’ve actually been investigating things?” Aubrey blurts out as she flips through another binder.

Stern raises an eyebrow and that’s the closest he’s gotten to a facial expression in a while. “Yes? What did you think I’ve been doing these past seven months?”

Although no one says a word, the silence is all the answer he needs.

“Ah.”

“Agent Stern-” Mama sets down a binder slowly. “Guessin’ there’s no chance that you haven’t already reported this in to the folks back in Washington, have you?”

A slight shake of his head. “They receive copies of my work every week.”

“Well shit.”

“Anything in here tying the Lodge to all this?” Barclay asks, trying so hard to keep his voice steady and even.

“No. And there won’t ever be. I won’t tell anyone anything of what you have confided in me today. Furthermore, I will come up with mundane explanations for what I have seen in Kepler to draw attention away from you all.”

And despite the years of caution and worry that should be screaming at him that Stern is lying, Barclay believes him.

“That’d be uh, very much appreciated,” Duck says and Stern gives him a curt nod.

“Well, if that will be all. I think I will head to bed if that is alright with you.”

It’s only 5:07 but Barclay won’t stop him.

With that, Stern goes back up the stairs leaving the five of them sitting with the five binders. And Barclay knows he should feel at least some relief. Stern promised not to tell anyone and Barclay believes him. Even said he’d cover for them. No more hasty lies or poor coverups. The other sylphs at the lodge who still aren’t fully comfortable around Stern can breathe a sigh of relief. Indrid’s drawing wasn’t what he thought it was.

All in all, he should be happy.

He isn’t.

Without warning, Barclay stands up from the table and starts walking towards the door and before anyone can say a word, Barclay calls behind him. “Gonna go find his glasses.”

No one stops him. 

And as he stumbles around the forest in a daze, it takes Barclay longer than he would've liked to find the glasses. Picking them up from the dirt, he notices that the metal arms are slightly bent but overall, in far better condition than he expected. For a moment, he just stands there in the forest, letting the evening air wash over him. Even though not much time has passed at all, the forest seems far different, the shadows longer, the wind cooler.

Changed. Not worse. Just different.

Eventually he finds his way back inside and honestly? His plan is to just head straight to bed. The day feels like its dragged on for an eternity and the thought of talking to anyone else tonight is the last thing he wants.

However, as soon as he steps in the door, Jake immediately makes his way over to him. “Hey uh, dude? Is Stern alright? He came through here looking totally shook.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Barclay glances down the hall towards Stern’s room. “Yeah he uh, well he knows. He knows everything. It’s a long story but, yeah- You can let the others know if you want.”

Oddly enough, Jake gets a wide grin on his face. “So we don’t have to hide anymore? Radical!” His hand starts to go up to remove his ear peircing. “Dude’s gonna flip when he finds out I’m a-”

“How ‘bout-” Barclay quickly cuts him off. “-We hold off on taking off our disguises around the lodge for the moment, hmm? You know, give him some time to adjust?”

Jake frowns, but then nods, dropping his hand back down to his side. “If you say so dude.”

And then Barclay is left standing in the lobby. To his right, his own room. To his left, Stern’s. Should he go knock on Stern’s door? No. Probably not. Probably should just go to bed. Stern probably doesn’t want to be bothered at the moment. He doesn’t even know what he’d say to him and besides . . .

Besides . . .

Besides . . .

Besides nothing.

No matter how much half of his brain wants to come up with an excuse to ignore this, the other half is fighting tooth and nail. He _wants_ to talk to Stern. To see how he’s faring now that the adrenaline's worn off. He wants to see him.

And so without another moment of hesitation, Barclay turns left and strides down the corridor to Stern’s room, giving a gentle rap on the door before softly calling, “Hey Stanley? It’s uh, its Barclay? Can we talk?”

For a moment, no sound comes through the door and Barclay half wonders if Stern has made a break for it from his balcony. However, a quick, high pitched, “Just a moment!” quickly dashes that line of thinking.

Another beat that feels like eternity, and then Stern opens his door. Now maybe it's because he’s not wearing his glasses, or perhaps it's because he just recently found out that he’s been living with aliens for the past seven months who can say, but Stern’s eyes are wider than Barclay’s ever seen them before. And that’s nothing to say of his lips which have been bitten enough to make them bleed.

“Hey?” Barclay starts. “Wondering if I could come in for a sec?”

Stern glances back into the room before nodding and stepping aside to let Barclay in.

And despite himself, as soon as Barclay sees the state of his room he lets out a not too quiet, “What the hell?”

Stern’s usual orderly and clean room looks like it had been overturned by robbers. All of his drawers are open and nearly empty. Hangers are scattered across the floor. His bed is bare of sheets and in the middle of it all sits a laundry bag full to bursting.

“What are you-”

“I want to-”

The words come out on top of one another and both men pause before Stern finally says, “I want to apologise.”

“Oh uh, okay, you don’t have to-”

“No. I do.” Stern interrupts. “I aimed my gun at you- You and the others and that is completely unacceptable and I offer my most sincere apology.”

“Well, uh, apology accepted? I mean, from your point of view it did really look like we trapped a guy in our basement, so it’s understandable.”

At this, Stern shakes his head. “It’s really not. My entire job revolves around collecting evidence, examining the facts and _then_ reaching a conclusion. Yet I allowed myself to throw aside everything I know and accuse you of a horrendous crime and again, I am so sorry.”

“Stanley, I forgive you. Really.” Stern doesn’t look convinced and he runs a hand through his hair. “Also, what are you doing?”

He glances around the room like he had forgotten the mess he made. “Oh, I’m ah, I’m going to do laundry.” Then, he goes over to one of his drawers and starts taking out his shirts and putting them in his laundry bag.

“Can’t that wait til tomorrow?”

“No. I want to wash my sheets before I leave and I should clean my clothes while I’m at in and-”

“Whoa whoa whoa, what?” Barclay feels like he fell asleep and missed half the context for this conversation. “You’re leaving? Why?”

“Well I’m quitting my job.”

Stern won’t look at him as he speaks, just continues folding up his laundry into his bag and Barclay feels like they’re having two different conversations. “What are you talking about? You love your job!”

“I did. Or I thought I did.” Stern’s voice is bordering on frantic but he continues packing away his laundry. “I thought I was helping people. Thought I was investigating the supernatural. Thought I was making a difference. But I wasn’t, was I?” He turns, but not to Barclay, but back to the drawer. The clothes he pulls out crumple in his grip. “What I was doing was invading the last safe haven you all had. Terrorizing you all. Making you walk on eggshells around me.”

“Stanley’s that’s not-”

“Were you afraid of me?”

Barclay pauses.

“Were you _afraid of me_?” He repeats and Barclay sighs.

“Yes. But only at the beginning!”

Acting like he just didn’t hear the second sentence, Stern continues. “And if I carry on with my job and I move onto my next assignment, it will either be just a hoax, or even worse, it _won’t_ be. And I’ll spend my days hunting down just regular people trying to live their lives and I- I can’t. I can’t do that. I refuse to be the bad guy. So I’m quitting my job. Don’t worry though. I’ll ensure the case on Kepler is closed before I quit. I don’t want one of my coworkers coming here to harass you all.”

“That’s not-” Barclay takes in a short shaky breath. “Fine. If you want to quit your job, then quit your job! I won’t stop you. But that doesn’t mean you have to damn well leave like the place is on fire!”

He turns away again. “I would say I’ve overstayed my welcome if I thought I ever truly had one.”

The words don’t register at first. Just noises with no meaning. Then, they all snap into place and Barclay knows his next words are louder than he wants but that doesn’t mean much when he wishes he didn’t have to say them at all. “If you think for a second that I don’t want you here, that you’re not welcome, then you must’ve hit your head out in the woods today because you’re smarter than that. I like you Stanley. It was never pretend. You’re fiercely intelligent and passionate and kind and you understand me and you play ABBA on the piano and wear fun sweatshirts and-”

“Oh my god.” 

“Uh, what?”

“My sweatshirts,” he groans and Barclay just catches one such sweatshirt in Stern’s hand. It’s slightly hard to read, but he’s pretty sure he catches the words ‘boyfriend’ and ‘bigfoot’ before Stern shoves it down to the depths of his bag. “God they all had _you_ on them! Why didn’t you-” he sputters, his hands flying back to his hair and face turning a shade of red Barclay didn't know humans could get. “I don’t know, tell me not to wear them? Or really anything so I wouldn’t walk around here humiliating myself!”

God this is all going so wrong. “It wasn’t like that. I genuinely love those sweatshirts, hell everyone did. But more importantly, I didn’t tell you to stop wearing them because they made you _happy_. That’s- That’s what I want Stanley. And if that means leaving Kepler, okay. But if that means staying here, with-” he nearly says ‘me’, but stops himself. “-With us, then great. I just . . . want you to be happy.”

The air is thick around them, filled with words already spoken, those yet to come and the ones not said outloud, but that they both can feel. Barclay thinks he might choke on it. Finally, Stern sighs and sets down the undershirt he’s had balled in his hand. “I wish I could stay but I . . . I can’t. There’s just no place for me here. We both know that.” And with that, he grabs his laundry bag and heaves it over his shoulder. “I’ll clean my room and check out once I get back.”

And Barclay opens his mouth to say something, anything, but finds himself at a loss as Stern walks past him and leaves the room, not even bothering shutting the door behind him.

His heart is twisted, curled in and consuming itself to keep beating. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Stern knows he’s Bigfoot. Hell he’s even going to quit his job. Everything should be fine now. But God it's not. He wants Stern to have a place here, to feel like he belongs, but how can he? Stern wouldn't be able to stand just sitting around the lodge all day without anything to do. On the other hand, Barclay can hardly imagine him as an accountant or even an agent in another department within the FBI. But maybe that's just because Barclay can barely even imagine the Lodge without him in it now.

And then he has an idea. A little idea that rapidly starts to spread and grow through his chest and head and heart and in an instant, Barclay strides out of Stern’s room.

He’s got some people to talk to.

 

* * *

 

Forty minutes later, Barclay speeds into the laundromat parking lot at a speed which, if Stern was in the car, he would surely object to. However, Barclay truly doesn’t give a damn as he quickly cuts the ignition and hurries out of the car.

Before he even enters, Barclay can see that Stern is the only patron inside. As he opens the door, the bell above giving a slight chime, he catches his own reflection in the glass. The corner of his mouth is curled up in the beginnings of a smile and his eyes are soft. 

However when Stern turns at the sound of the bell, his face is quite the opposite. Especially when he drops his quarters in surprise and quickly ducks down behind the machines to try to catch them as they roll away.

Barclay says nothing, trying to make his heart stop beating so fucking fast. Also if his brain could stop suggesting that he make a break for it into the woods, that’d be just swell.

As he rounds the corner to the row Stern is at, Barclay sees that the other man is still on his hands and knees trying to see where his change went to. He knows that Stern knows he’s in the aisle, but he’s pretending he doesn’t. Or at least, he was until Barclay quietly walks over and holds out his hand next to him and finally, Stern looks at him, or more specifically, the two shiny quarters in his hand.

“Told you I’d pay you back.”

As Stern stands, Barclay was hoping for at least a small laugh from him. Instead, he swallows hard and goes to gingerly take the two quarters.

And then he freezes. Glances up to Barclay. Down to the third item in his hand. And back to Barclay.

“What’s that?”

“Well it’s,” Barclay starts, steeling his nerves. “It’s an offer.”

Slowly, like he’s afraid it will bite, Stern takes the small sew-in patch, a pine tree against the backdrop of the shades of the sunset, and then looks back up to Barclay, a thousand questions behind his eyes.

“An offer to join the Pine Guard.”

And just like that, Stern goes rigid, a gasp stuck in the back of his throat. He stares at Barclay, waiting for the punchline that will never come.

“You said you don’t have a place here,” Barclay continues on, trying to remember all the words that tumbled out of his mouth as he practiced this speech on the way over. The words, however, are gone and Barclay is left with whatever his heart supplies him. “But you could. If you wanted to. You could help us. Be a member of the Pine Guard and then you could protect people and investigate the supernatural and fight monsters or- Or you could just do research. I saw your binders and you’re a fantastic researcher. Either way, you could stay here doing what you love. And uh, you wouldn’t have to pay rent or anything.” Barclay’s rambling but he can’t stop. “We don’t really make anyone at the Lodge pay rent. But if you really want to leave, I won’t hold it against you.  Just know you’ll always have a place at Amnesty Lodge.”

Stern opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it yet again before finally opening it and quietly asking. “And ah, what do the others think of this proposal?”

“All onboard. Asked ‘em all before I came here.” He had thought it was gonna be more than a fight than it was, but honestly? It really wasn’t much of a battle to convince the others. Duck seemed pleased that he wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout coming up with lies should the agent make an appearance. Aubrey liked the idea of adding to the team. Ned just gave him a wink and Mama . . . Well, Mama had looked at him with a hard to read expression and had simply asked, ‘You trust him?' and when Barclay had said yes, she just smiled and told him he better get moving before Stern finishes with his laundry. 

Stern pauses again. “And you . . . You want me to stay?”

“I do.” Barclay’s voice comes out slightly breathless. “I’ve been uh, I’ve been thinking about it for a while- You leaving and never coming back. And I always told myself that there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. But there is. So- Yeah. I want you to stay if you want to stay. I want to keep doing laundry with you and talking about books and baking and seeing your sweatshirts. I . . . I would miss you if you left.”

“I would miss you too.”

They’re dangerously close to tiptoeing into something else but for once, Barclay decides to not run away from it.

“You don’t have to decide right now either. You can take your time. Know this is a big decision and all.”

Looking back down to the patch, Stern gently rubs his thumb across the Pine Tree, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and Barclay feels like his chest will burst with each passing second. Finally, Stern looks up, locks eyes with him and simply asks, “Is this machine-washable?”

And Barclay can’t help it- He starts laughing. It starts as a small thing, barely even a chuckle. However, it steadily grows and grows until its a wheezing gasp, the stress and tension and worry slipping out of him with each breath. Through the tears welling in his eyes, Barclay can just make out Stern also hunched over with laughter.

Finally, the two of them come back down, and Barclay has to spend a few seconds catching his breath before he can finally get out, “So is that a yes?”

Stern’s own chuckling only barely dies down before he smiles. “Yes.”

And then, the fact that the two of them are standing mere inches apart, still slightly breathless, faces flushed- It all becomes too much to ignore.

“So,” Stern starts, words coming out low on the tail-end of a breath. “What now?”

“Whatever we like I guess.”

Stern takes a step forward. 

“And what would you like?"

His eyes flicker to Stern’s parted lips.

“Depends.”

The grainy music sputtering out over the speakers seems to fade around them.

“On what?”

Another step by Barclay brings them ever closer.

“Depends on what you want.”

Stern’s breath is all but stopped.

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

Barclay’s breath too is gone.

“Doesn’t have to be.”

This time, Stern doesn’t answer.

Instead, he leans in halfway.

And Barclay?

Well Barclay is only a hair's breadth behind him.

Then, just like that, under flickering luminescent lights which crackle and buzz above them, next to lost socks and dryer lint, surrounded by ancient washers and dryers with the lingering smell of mildew, Barclay and Stern kiss.

And if you were to ask either of them, both would say it was perfect.

It’s a light kiss, barely a brush of lips but that doesn’t matter because when Barclay’s beard grazes against Stern’ cheek and the scent of lavender fills Barclay’s lungs with every breath and they both feel the other smiling into the kiss, it's better than anything either of them had ever dreamed.

All to soon, they break apart.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” Stern confides, still no more than a breath away from him.

And then Barclay smiles, and before he goes back in for another kiss, whispers back, “I can imagine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleven chapters in and we've finally gotten to the first kiss but fear not there are many more to come! The next chapter will include their first date and and in total, I'm thinking they'll be four more chapters after this one til the end. Also, the quarter scene in this chapter was a reference to ch. 1 where Stern gives Barclay two quarters for laundry and Barclay says he'll pay him back (that chapter was published back in march holy shit)
> 
> Also I'm equally nervous and excited for whatever Stern reveal Griffin's got cooking cause I've got a feeling it'll be a big one. Don't think its gonna be that Barclay and Stern have been secretly dating so I'll be here making that sweet sweet sternclay content


	12. Third Date If You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure Barclay and Stern could go on their usual Sunday night laundry run, or after the panic and confusion and fear that had been a staple in their lives the previous weeks, maybe this time they could just do something nice.
> 
> Maybe they could finally have that first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing Agent Stern? Ep 32 leave you in peices? Then boy oh boy do I have the chapter for you! This one takes place April 28th and is just a whole lotta fluff. Thought we needed a bit of fluff after the chaos of the last few chapters (and the show itself Breaking Me)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

“This just might be the worst idea of the day. Possibly the year, we’ll have to see.”

Barclay covers his mouth in a feeble attempt to stop himself from laughing. On the other hand, Ned puts on an offended face that has the same rate of people buying it as the ‘My Other Ride is the Mothman’ bumper stickers he sells down at the cryptonomica.

“And here I thought a trained agent such as yourself wouldn’t bat an eye at a lie of this caliber.” Ned takes a long sip of his tea. “I’m sure with the proper phrasing, you could make it believable.”

Stern’s face remains just teetering on the edge between disbelief and resigned acceptance. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered that you honestly think I could make my superiors at the Federal Bureau of Investigations believe that a _pack of wild dogs_ somehow destroyed an _entire water park_ , or shocked that you think my superiors are that gullible.”

Raising a single eyebrow, Ned just smiles and across the table, Mama rolls her eyes fondly. 

They’ve been at it for a couple of hours now- Going through every report of supernatural occurrences that Stern documented in Kepler and coming up with plausible excuses that are as far away from ‘It was aliens’ as possible.

“Not that the uh, wild dogs idea is bad,” Aubrey starts as she strokes Dr. Harris Bonkers Ph.D. “I mean it definitely is but let’s just put that one in the maybe pile. Cool? Cool. Anyways, so I was thinking, the manager of the park, Todd Whathisname-”

“Hinderflins?” Stern supplies, looking through his notes.

“Yeah Todd Hindenburg, well he had some uh, raunchy magazines in his locker. Maybe we could do something with that?”

“What, he looked at porn so God blew up his waterpark?” Duck asks. This time, Barclay doesn’t even attempt to stifle his laughter. “Sounds like the sorta shit my mom would peddle back in the day.”

“How about,” Mama interrupts before they can further explore the wrath of god as an option. “You tell ‘em that with all the waterparks we got ‘round here, there weren’t enough inspectors to, you know, inspect ‘em properly and that thing’s been on the verge of collapsing for years?”

Tapping his pen a few times against his binder, Stern carefully scans his page of notes before saying, “That- That just might do the trick.”

“And I’m sure a quick search of the Inter-Ned could drum up some angry reviews of the park claiming it’s falling apart. Might backup the claim to your superiors.”

“Not to mention that this might get a bit more funding thrown our way for state inspections.” Duck adds on.

“Guess we could use this to explain away the sinkhole too.” Barclay points out, feeling warmth bloom in his chest like May flowers after the rain at the smile Stern sends his way. “You know, say that one of the pipes from the park probably burst, started flooding the soil and the rest is history.” 

Another quick scan through his notes followed by another flash of a smile. “That sounds perfect to me, any objections?” Everyone shakes their heads and Stern closes his binder. “Alright then, we’ve made good progress. How about we put a pin in this and reconvene tomorrow to discuss the funicular incident?”

With that, everyone goes to stand and while the others are preoccupied, Barclay locks eyes with Stern and then glances over to the back door, a question forming in the quirk of his lips. Now Stern might’ve mouthed something in response, maybe a quiet ‘sure’ or ‘yeah’ but Barclay’s too focused on the way the corners of his eyes crinkle up in the tell-tale way they do when he grins. Not to mention how the light picks up the little flecks of honey brown through his eyes and . . .

God Barclay’s in deep.

“Well, think we’ll be headed off.” Barclay tells the others. “Don’t know when we’ll be back but leftovers are in the fridge if anyone wants them.”

Aubrey waves goodbye but not before saying, “Oh make sure not to use the far left dryer on the second row. If anything it made Dani and mine’s clothing even more moist.”

And as the Duck suddenly launches into why Aubrey should never use the word ‘moist’ ever again, Barclay just laughs and says nothing cause if he did, then he might accidentally stumble into a lie. Because for the moment, letting the rest of the pine guard come to their own conclusions about where he and Stern are going isn’t lying, they’re just not going out of their way to correct a misconception. And sure, they’re leaving at the same time on the same day they always do laundry, but that’s just a coincidence.

Okay so that one is a lie.

Both men go back to their rooms to get changed, Barclay making a pit stop in the kitchen before they meet up out back.

“Ready?” Stern adjusts the scarf around his neck.

“Yep, you know the way to this perfect picnic spot you’ve been talking about?”

“With the amount of time I’ve spent searching this forest, I should hope I can navigate us less than a mile through it. Besides-” As he speaks, he intertwines their hands, letting Barclay feel the calluses on his palm, Stern doing the same with the small scars and burns littered across Barlcay’s own. “I believe having Ranger Newton come rescue us wouldn’t be the best first date.”

“Would be memorable though.”

“I’m hoping we can make it memorable on our own without getting lost in the woods, but if that’s really what you want, I’m sure I could get us turned around . . .”

Barclay chuckles and gives Stern’s hand a quick squeeze. This could be the whole date, just the two of them wandering the forest together and Barclay would be more than happy. Just a week ago he didn’t think this would ever happen. And now that it's here? That it's actually happening? It’s almost too good to be true.

They continue walking for some time, discussing the day, pointing out different birds as they fly past, all the while never letting go of the other’s hand. As they trek up a small hill, Stern turns to him and smiles. “You’re really going to love this, I stumbled upon this spot a while ago but haven’t had a reason to come back. But it really is quite something.”

“Well then I’m glad you’ve got a reason now.”

“As am I.”

And with that, they cross the crest of the hill and look out into the clearing below scattered with yellow fawn lilies, windflowers, blue violets and a couple of others that Barclay can’t name.

Oh and the archway is there.

That’s probably more important than the flowers.

“What in the world is that?” Stern asks, not waiting for an answer before he carefully makes his way to the center of the clearing. “This- This wasn’t here the last time I- How in the world . . .”

Barclay almost wants to let Stern continue his inspection for a couple more minutes because the way he chews on his bottom lip and his eyebrows scrunch together as he examines the archway is pretty cute. And is Barclay biased? Maybe so. But still . . . 

“Actually, that _was_ here the last time it was, well it was just invisible.”

Maybe in a different circumstance that revelation would have gotten a bigger reaction, but you know, Stern is on a date with bigfoot and just that morning had been playing the piano with a ghost, so an invisible gate is kinda par for the course at the moment. 

“Invisible?”

“Yeah uh, you know when I told you that there’s a gate that we all came through that I’d take you out to see? And that one day you'll get to go through it too? Well this is it. Only people who know it exists can see it though. Rest of the time magic keeps it hidden from everybody else.”

Like a flip was switched, Stern’s face lights up. “That’s incredible! So the magic- what? Scans the memories of every single person who comes across it? And then deciphers the intent of the speaker who told them about the archway? So would photographs show the gate? Or would they just-” He stops. Takes a breath. Turns back to Barclay. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to be here do you? Certainly not with me rambling on. How about we go somewhere else? Down by the river perhaps? Or-”

“Stanley,” He cuts him off. “It’s fine. We can stay here, I don’t mind. Besides-” he holds up the picnic basket. “Don’t want the drinks getting warm, huh?”

Stern smiles and Barclay knows he could never tire of it. “No, I suppose we don’t.”

With that, they lay out the picnic blanket, doing their best to not crush any flowers as they go. Once they’re all set up, the sandwiches, chips, fruits and pudding he prepared earlier laid out before them, it suddenly becomes oh so apparent that it’s just the two of them. Actually on a date. Not doing laundry or preventing the FBI from invading Kepler. Just . . . On a date.

As if reading his mind, Stern lets out a quiet chuckle and looks at Barclay sheepishly. “I must admit, it’s been- Well it’s been some time since I’ve been on a date. Let alone a first date. Remembering all the things you’re supposed to do or not do is somewhat tricky if I’m being honest.”

“Same here. If you want though, we could just say that this isn’t our first date?” For the briefest moment, the corner of Stern’s lips curl down and his eyes narrow. “Oh, no, no no, sorry. I just meant we could say that this is our third date or something? You know, do away with all the stress of trying to make the first date perfect?” He starts counting off on his hands just so he has something to do with them. “Going to the laundromat could be the first. Uh, making that cake could be the second. Or maybe the ski trip? I don't know.”

Another quiet laugh. “While I appreciate the sentiment, the idea of telling people that our first date was in a laundromat that once played ‘Hey Mickey’ seven times in a row isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Hey Mickey isn’t that bad.”

“Seven times in a row though?”

“You might have a point there.” Barclay hands him a tupperware full of strawberries and sets out to try and discover how he can eat chips in a way that won’t make Stern decide that actually, _date’s cancelled. Pack it all up. Barclay eating chips Bad is the dealbreaker of the night. This far no further_. However, he doesn’t get far into this anxious thought process before Stern says, voice light, like the words just sprang up in his mind instead of something he’s been carefully mulling over-

“We are going to tell the others, right? I mean, I think there’s only so many times we can ‘go do laundry’ without taking our cars or laundry before the others get suspicious. And to be frank, I think that time might be one.”

Barclay blinks. “Oh, I mean, if you’re okay with it, yeah. I just thought maybe keeping this first one to ourselves before we went would be good just to keep the others from, well I don’t wanna say ‘bother us’, but uh yeah to keep them from bothering us.”

“You really think they would follow us out here?”

“Not sure, although I _am_  pretty sure that there’s at least one bet going on at the lodge concerning us, so I wouldn’t put it past them. Besides, you know Ned’s gonna use this as leverage for . . . Something.”

Stern raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well it was his video that brought you out here in the first place, so technically speaking, he’s the reason we met. Pretty good leverage to get us to help out on Saturday Night Dead.”

“I wouldn’t mind that actually,” Stern admits with a smile and a shrug. “I grew up watching a lot of the movies he shows, would sneak down into my basement and watch them with my younger sisters, completely muted so my parents wouldn’t find out.”

“Pretty sure Ned wouldn’t say no to you helping out, and even if he did, could always come watch them with the rest of the lodge. And now that everyone’s on the same page, should be less awkward than last time.”

Suddenly, Stern’s face shifts from a gentle smile to a grimace, his features crumpling inwards before he covers them with his hand. “Oh don’t remind me. That was so embarrassing!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Barclay assures and, after a moment of thought, wraps an arm around Stern’s shoulder to which the other man readily leans into. 

“I left after five minutes.”

“Pretty sure it was like ten.”

This gets Stern to drop his hands from his face to level Barclay a halfhearted glare that gets only another chuckle out of him. “It still wasn’t good. I honestly considered escaping out the window once I got back to my room so you would all just think I was some odd fever dream.”

“Well we’ll just have to make the next time better. You could help me in the kitchen beforehand if you want? Or-” Barclay pauses, momentarily distracted by the thought of brushing Stern’s hair behind the shell of his ear. “-Or could always play the piano? That seems to be a crowd pleaser.”

“Hmm, not bad ideas. Maybe I can even manage to grab us that loveseat too?”

“You’ll have to personally fight Dani for that loveseat and I’ll tell you right now, you _will_ loose.”

Another laugh and god Barclay could get lost in it. “Duly noted.”

They continue on with the picnic, Stern never failing to compliment Barclay on the food he had prepared. Eventually though, as the date begins to wind down with the sun, Stern shoots Barclay a curious look.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how does dating and all that work on- Sylvain? Am I pronouncing that right?” 

“Yeah you got it. And to be honest, it really depends.” Barclay idly scratches his beard as he tries to think back to school yard crushes and dates he used to go on. “A lot of it depended on where you grew up. Like, in the capitol and some of the surrounding towns, dating customs from Earth are pretty popular. Or, _were_ pretty popular. After Sylvain was shattered and interacting with humans became pretty frowned upon, it fell outta style.”

“That makes sense. And what of the other customs?”

“Well I’m not sure about the others, you might wanna ask them for a bigger picture, but at least for the little community I grew up in, carving wooden hearts for your partner was pretty common. Think it came about from some old thing of showing your partner you had skills and could provide for them but that was a pretty old fashioned way of thinking even when I was a kid.  Most people just gave ‘em cause they were pretty. Um, what else . . .”

It really wasn’t something Barclay had thought about since he left Sylvain, and even when he was there, dating hadn’t been high on his priority list. Turns out draconian laws and the death of your planet don’t exactly put you in the mood for romance. It’s been so long, but there’s got to be something . . .

“Oh, well there’s also the Festival of Fallen Stars.”

Stern sets down his cup to turn fully to Barclay. “Festival of Fallen Stars? Sounds exciting.”

“Yeah it wasn’t the biggest festival of the year, but it was my favorite. See, we’d get this yearly meteor shower just at the beginning of spring and coupled with the rings around Sylvain, it always made the night sky just stunning.” He lets out a single content sigh at the memory before remembering where he was going with this. “Anyways, there’d be food and dancing, lots and lots of dancing, and it was pretty common that if you took someone along as your dance partner, it was, well it was like making it official I guess? The words don’t translate well but basically, it meant a lot.”

Stern fiddles with the rim of his cup from where it sits on their blanket. “And does the lodge still celebrate this?”

“Yep. Do it in August instead of early spring cause that’s when we’ve got a pretty consistent meteor shower for it, but other than that we try and keep it the same as it’d be on Sylvain. I think- I think you’ll really enjoy it.”

Maybe outright inviting Stern to be his dance partner right now would be too presumptuous . . .

Not to say that Barclay isn’t highly considering it.

Without warning, Stern’s smile turns tight, eyes downcast. “If I’m back by then, it sounds lovely.”

_Oh_.

Yeah.

They had briefly discussed it, neither wanting to dwell on it more than necessary. For so long, Barclay had been dreading the idea of Stern leaving and unfortunately, that day was coming sooner rather than later. Because all the planning the Pine Guard is doing, all the lies they’re brewing, it’s all for Stern’s final report. And once that report is submitted, Stern will be reassigned. There’s no way around it. The suggestion had been thrown out that Stern should just quit, but no, he wouldn’t take it. If he quits, he won’t be able to know if the report is accepted or not, if the case on Kepler is closed. So he’ll be leaving. Leaving and not coming back until he knows the Lodge is safe. And Barclay can’t stop him.

“You really think you’ll be gone that long?”

“I can’t be sure. The case file on Kepler is one of the largest we have. Who knows how long it will take my superiors to decide whether or not my findings are sufficient. It will be a few months at least.”

_At least . . ._

Seeing Barclay’s face fall, Stern is quick to add on. “But I’ll be sure to call, let you know of any updates, tell you of the places I go, let you know if I finally find Bigfoot.” Alright that one gets a laugh out of him. “And you can keep me informed of all things happening at the lodge, such as if Jake perfects that trick he’s been working on.”

“Trust me, if Jake gets that flip down, he’s gonna yell so loud that you’ll hear about it no matter how far away they’ve sent you. But anyways,” Barclay takes a second to lay down on the blanket. Not a moment later, Stern follows suit, making sure he’s pressed against his side. Barclay had once thought that Stern wouldn’t be big on touch . . . God how wrong had he been. “No more talk of you leaving. Still a few Earth customs I think we gotta try before the night’s over.”

“Oh?” Stern shifts to his side. “I’d say I’m an expert on Earth customs. I’m sure I could demonstrate a few for you.”

Barclay turns too, one of his hands coming to cup Stern’s jaw and he honestly think’s he could do this a million times and never tire of Stern’s slight sharp breath when Barclay’s hand touches his cheek. And sure, he could go on to make some flirty comeback, but why would he waste his time when instead he could just close the gap between them, taste the strawberry on Stern’s lips and run his hands through his hair as Stern peppers kisses down his neck like they have all the time in the world, like the sun will never set, like the night will never grow colder, like Stern will never leave . . .

And maybe in that moment, that’s all true.

It certainly feels like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so the slightest hints of sad there at the end, but overall, just a nice sweet date fic! Also, no joke, when Griffin mentioned that Barclay was looking over a map in the latest episode I literally yelled 'Fuck Yeah!' cause now the mention of Barclay wanting to be a mapmaker in chapter 5 has the barest bit of canon to back it up (not really but i like to think so)
> 
> Also, after this chapter we have three more chapters which seems crazy to me cause I've been writing this for so long. Thank you all so much for reading this and commenting and everything, its been so much fun to write and I love hearing that y'all are liking this too!
> 
> If I'm lucky (and have enough time) I want to get the next chapter out before the next episode airs, but we'll see if that happens . . .


	13. 2,000 Miles Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, the thought of Agent Stern leaving would be a cause for celebration at Amnesty Lodge.
> 
> But now it's just making Barclay nostalgic for laundromats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta stop trying to predict when I'll have the next chapters posted because I am never right. Ever. So yeah, sorry this one is a lot later than I thought it'd be, but I hope y'all like it! This one has a tiny bit of a time jump and takes place May the 12th

In the grand scheme of things, Stern hitting enter isn’t some earth shattering moment. It feels like it should be. But it’s not.

Just a single, quiet, click that could almost be mistaken for the tick of the clock hung on Mama’s office wall. There’s no fanfare. No dramatic music. Just Stern sending away his final report on Kepler after the six of them had triple-checked it to ensure none of its contents could possibly bring the FBI back to town. 

Well, except one FBI agent that is.

It’s been about twenty minutes since the report was sent, the conversation moving on to Duck detailing the new model tugboat he’s been working on with sweeping hand gestures and a glint in his eye. Even so, every now and again Barclay gives a quick glance over to the laptop like he’s expecting it to explode. Maybe it will. Who knows what contraptions the government’s cooked up nowadays?

And while in Barclay’s opinion, he’s being very sneaky with his occasional glance to the laptop, apparently he’s not sneaky enough as Mama catches him on the latest pass and decides to put an end to his misery.

“How long you reckon it’ll be til you get reassigned?” Mama asks in a way that cuts right past all the pretense. Barclay appreciates it.

“It depends on if they already have a case for me. If I’m lucky, no one will report that a demon has possessed their bicycle for a few days and I’ll have a moment of reprieve.”

Aubrey stops fiddling with the arm of her sunglasses. “Has that happened before?”

“Demons possessing bicycles? No. People reporting that a demon is in their bicycle due to carbon monoxide poisoning? Unfortunately, yes.”

And before Barclay can take the time to imagine what a demon bicycle would look like, Ned pipes up from the armchair in the corner. “And ah, god forbid, your report isn’t accepted in full, should we expect a return visit from you sooner than anticipated or will one of your coworkers start galavanting around town?”

“Hopefully not cause I don’t think Barclay can seduce any more FBI agents.”

Barclay levels a glare at Aubrey. “Don’t put it like that. Makes it sound like I had some weird ulterior motive.”

Turning to Duck with a mischievous smile, Aubrey doesn’t even manage to get out whatever she had in mind before Duck cuts her off. “You want to piss off the mothman? Cause that’s how you piss off the mothman.”

“Alright alright, if I have to put on the old charms to get the FBI off our backs, it is a burden I must bear. They don’t call me Ned ‘Seduction’ Chicane for nothing!”

“Who Ned?” Mama deadpans. “Who has  _ ever _ called that. I want names.”

Stern blinks. “Please don’t seduce any of my coworkers.”

“No promises.”

“Anyways,” Stern starts back up. “I’m hoping they’d just send me back here if anything needs a follow up. Well really, I’m hoping nothing requires a follow up in the first place, but I’d rather you all not have to deal with one of my coworkers if it comes down to it. They’re not the most pleasant people to be around.”

“Well even if they do show up, we’ll handle it. No seduction necessary.” Barclay gives a hopefully reassuring smile to Stern. He has enough to worry about right now and anything Barclay can do to help diminish that worry, he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

Stern smiles back. “I’m sure you all-” and then whatever he was going to say next is cut off by a short quiet pop from his laptop. He doesn’t glance down at his screen, not yet, instead he locks eyes with Barclay.

“Maybe it’s spam?” Duck offers and god Barclay hopes he’s right.

After a second, Stern looks at the screen, clicking open the email and scanning through it as fast as possible. His shoulders are as tight as his jaw and Barclay nearly wishes he would read whatever it is outloud just so he doesn’t have to sit there and worry.

“Well,” Stern finally says and Barclay holds his breath. “Looks like I won’t be able to stay for dinner.”

Ah.

Fuck.

“Wait you’re seriously leaving already?” Aubrey asks. “Holy shit they do not fuck around at the FBI, huh?”

“No they most certainly do not. They want me in-” he glances back down at the screen. “-Utah as soon as possible. Apparently there’s a report of a ghoul there that they want me to investigate.”

Ned makes a grand sweeping gesture with his hand. “Look on the bright side, friend! The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return!”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

The other’s don’t know what to say, Barclay quickly standing up and stepping in to fill the silence. “C’mon, I’ll help you pack. Pretty sure I’ve got some extra bags lying around if you need ‘em.”

Stern smiles, a weak thing but a smile all the same. “Thank you.” And with that, Stern says his second to last goodbyes to the others before he and Barclay make their way to his room. Before too long, the closets become bare. The drawers empty. The photo of Stern with his siblings on the nightstand is gone. 

The room just feels like another room and Barclay hates it.

“Will you take care of my plant while I’m gone?” Stern points over to Devil’s Ivy flourishing near the window. “I know for a fact I’ll accidentally kill it if I try to take it on the road with me.”

“How do you know for a fact I won’t accidentally kill it myself?”

“Because you have Dani here to help you keep it alive and I’m fairly positive she’ll kill you if you bring harm to that plant.”

“Fair point.”

Barclay continues folding up sweatshirts as Stern works his way through the bathroom, deciding whether or not he’ll try to bring his own shampoo or just brave whatever the hotels he finds himself in have to offer. As Barclay picks up another sweatshirt, he spies the one underneath it and smiles something wicked. “You know,” he calls casually. “Not sure why you’ve never worn this one? I  _ really _ like it.”

Peeking out of the bathroom, a sharps container in hand, Stern looks over to where Barclay holds up a sweatshirt that reads ‘Bigfoot is My Boyfriend’ in bright bold font. “Think it really suits you.”

Stern’s unimpressed look coupled with the red rising on his cheeks makes Barclay burst out laughing. “The reason I don’t wear that is because if I had purchased it after we started dating, it would’ve been at least somewhat funny. However, since I bought it before I ever even met you, it’s just embarrassing.”

“Thought these were all gifts from your family?”

“Ah well, yes. They are. Or the majority of them are. Just- Just not that one.”

Another laugh which Stern playfully rolls his eyes at. However, Stern then sees the sweatshirt that had been on top of the other and stops. “Oh, you can take that one back if you’d like.”

Barclay looks over and sees none other than his own sweatshirt he had let Stern borrow for their ski day. He knows Stern sleeps in it and is surprised he’s not taking it with him. Apparently his confusion is evident on his face because Stern goes on to clarify.

“I’ve had to wash it since you gave it to me and well . . .”

Something warm curls deep in his chest and Barclay can’t help but smile. “Want me to grab you one of my sweatshirts that I’ve worn recently?”

And if Stern’s soft smile is anything to go by, that warmth in Barclay’s chest is in his too. “Yes please.”

And sure, is Barclay secretly pleased that he can take back his sweatshirt? Yes. However, is it because Barclay’s been lying in wait to get this one specific article of clothing back from Stern, too afraid to ask for it back? Absolutely Not. It’s just that now Barclay has a sweatshirt that fits him  _ and _ smells like Stern. It won’t last long, but at least for a few nights, Barclay can fall asleep to the faint smell of lavender and pretend Stern’s still there with him.

He’s quick to go to his room, grabbing his softest sweatshirt that still smells like him. Before he leaves, he grabs one last thing- A gift which he had hoped he wouldn’t have to give for some time.

When he makes it back, Stern’s essentially done packing. “Thank you,” He says, voice comforting as the sweatshirt in his hands will be when he’s all alone halfway across the country. However, when he spies the small bag in Barclay’s other hand, he pauses. “What’s that?”

“A going-away gift, I guess. I thought- Well, here just open it.”

Stern takes the bag and after shuffling through the tissue paper, starts pulling out CD cases one by one.

The first one is a murder mystery that Barclay even bought himself a copy of so Stern will have someone to discuss his theories with.

The next involves odd medical practices throughout history that Barclay knows he’ll be too squeamish to read himself.

The third is the next book in their favorite series that Stern hasn’t had time to read yet.

In total, there are eleven audiobooks. All stacked on Stern’s bed as he looks at them silently.

“I uh, I remembered that you said you had already listened to all the audiobooks you have, and I know you’ll have a lot of driving ahead of you for the next few months. So, yeah. Hope you like ‘em.”

Stern takes a moment to turn and before Barclay can say another word, he finds himself with an armful of his boyfriend. 

“I love them.” He breathes, not letting go. This close, with Barclay’s face pressed in the crook of Stern’s neck, all he can smell is lavender and god does he love it.

And although Stern’s email from his boss instructed him to leave Kepler and start the long trek to Utah as soon as possible, both Stern and Barclay decide that delaying that departure for five minutes is worth it so they can memorize the feel of holding each other in their arms.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, you sure you got everything?”

“Yes, Barclay helped me double-check. Thank you for asking Madil-” He pauses and then the next word out of his mouth is long and clunky, like he doesn’t know how to pronounce it. “Mama . . .”

“That sounded painful.” Mama claps him on the shoulder. “Good effort though.” 

“Yes, I’ll work on it.”

Next up is Ned, electing to go in for a handshake that he keeps going for way to long in Barclay’s opinion. “If you stop in any tourist traps, make sure to write down any good ideas you see. I’ve been needing something new to spice up the Cryptonomica.”

“So you’re admitting your establishment is a tourist trap?”

“Oh friend Stern, you must’ve misheard. I most certainly said other reputable museums dedicated to the paranormal!” Ned lets out a deep belly laugh which Stern joins in with a light chuckle.

The next goodbye goes to Duck.

“Make sure to watch out for bedbugs in those motels,” Duck advises with a shrug. “They can really do a number on ya.”

“Well they can’t be as bad as the ones here. I’ve heard from reputable sources that you grow them extra small here in Kepler.”

Rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin on his face, Duck nods. “Gotta admit, outta all my lies, that one wasn’t the worst.”

“All due respect, the bar isn’t particularly high.”

After a handshake of a far more appropriate duration, Stern moves on to Aubrey. As he puts out his hand to shake hers, Stern abruptly stops as Aubrey says, “Woah slowly!” Then at his confused look, adds, “You are still a Fed after all. Don’t want any sudden movements.”

It’s silent for a moment before Aubrey starts laughing and Barclay is happy to see Stern laugh along with a shrug. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Don’t worry, once you get back you won’t be a fed anymore. Then you’ll officially be cool. Oh and one last thing-” Aubrey bends down to where Dr. Harris Bonkers has been happily lying in the grass on his leash and picks him up. “Dr. Bonkers says he’s gonna miss you.”

Stern blinks, and Barclay worries for a moment that this’ll be the part where Stern officially breaks down. Instead though, Stern pets him once and just says, “I’ll miss you too Dr. Bonkers.”

And then it’s Barclay’s turn to say goodbye and somehow, up til then, it almost hadn’t felt real. But now, as Stern stands in front of him, his suitcases already in his trunk, CD player loaded with a new audiobook, Barclay realises that this is it.

“So . . .”

Stern breathes. “So.”

“You have the Lodge’s number right?”

“I have it saved down to my phone, don’t worry.”

Easier said than done.

“And you’ll call when-”

“When I get there?” Stern finishes for him with a soft smile. “Of course. “

There’s a lot Barclay wants to say, words that haven’t even made their way up his throat and are still sitting idle in his lungs. With the others still standing by, Barclay doesn’t think he’d be able to force even half the words he’s desperate to say to Stern out even if he reached inside and dragged them to the surface. So instead, Barclay just leans in and gives Stern the briefest of kisses, hoping that he can taste on his lips all those unsaid words.

“I’ll be back soon.”

That’s a lie, but a lie Barclay won’t call him out on.

“Be safe.”

“You too.”

And then, Stern says one last chorus of goodbyes, gets in his car, waves to them all, and then drives away just like that. The lodge nothing more than a reflection in his rearview mirror.

It’s only once his car turns the corner onto the main road does Barclay realise that Stern wasn’t wearing his pride flag cufflinks, just the plain silver ones he always used to wear. That in itself will sting for some time, he just knows it.

He should have told Stern he loves him.

Why didn’t he tell Stern he loves him?

What if-

A clap on his shoulder shakes Barclay out of it and he turns to see Mama giving him a smile. “He’ll be back ‘fore you know it. Now, how ‘bout I show you the plans for the new commission I’ve been workin’ on, get your mind off things. It’s this head with a bunch o’ faces all comin’ out of it. Not my thing, but the buyer’s real into it.”

Barclay nods and with that, they all head back inside as he silently berates himself for all those prayers to Sylvain he used to make about Agent Stern leaving Kepler as soon as possible.

He makes it all the way out to Mama’s workshop behind the lodge before even really realising he got there. He takes one long deep breath. It’s fine. Stern will be back. And sure it might be six months from now or a year from now or maybe the FBI will see through their ruse and come for the Lodge and for Stern or-

And then, through his mounting panic, Barclay hears something that he knows Mama can’t- The distinct crunch of tires on gravel, coming closer and closer. Without another thought, Barclay heads back to the front of the lodge, leaving Mama yelling after him asking where he’s going. It’s Stern. It’s gotta be Stern. He probably forgot something. 

Barclay can tell him he loves him. 

Barclay  _ will _ tell him he loves him. 

It’s the last chance he’s going to get for a while and he’s not letting it go.

He just won’t.

Reaching the front, Barclay throws open the door just as hears footfalls on the other side coming up the steps. “Stanley I lo-”

It’s not Stanley.

Standing in front of him is a postal delivery worker who is managing to both look startled and like this is another day on the job. “Afternoon! Got a package for uh- Barclay Cobb.”

“That’s me.”

And after the standard formalities, Barclay is left with the package and the sense that he truly isn’t going to get to tell Stern he loves him for some time. Going through the motions, he makes short work of the packaging and has to stop when he sees what’s inside.

Wrapped in layers upon layers of bubble wrap is the part he ordered to fix their broken washing machine. 

The one he ordered months ago.

The one that he hadn’t even realised was a few weeks late.

The part for the washing machine that spurred he and Stern to start hanging out in the first place.

God that feels like a lifetime ago.

He thinks back to how he nearly got Mama to just replace the washing machine all together. 

What would his life be like if he had done that?

Or picked a different day to do laundry?

Would Stern still be trying to be a barely-there guest? The other still terrified of him? Barclay doing his best to avoid him? Would-

“Whatcha got there?” Dani interrupts his train of thought and it takes Barclay a second to gather himself.

“Oh uh, just the part for the washing machine. I’ll put it in today.”

Dani smiles. “It’ll be weird not going down to the laundromat, huh?”

And for just a moment, Barclay is met with just the barest brush of sadness about not going to that shitty laundromat anymore.

“Yeah. Yeah it will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure if I dont relate every chapter back to laundry in some way, my computer will explode.
> 
> Also uhhh, only two more chapters?? It's kinda freaking me out but I'm also so excited for these remaining chapters yall.
> 
> Also also, Spoilers For Ep 33- I am here for Joseph Stern and I'm so happy that they're now canonically friends and I'm Very Interested in Barclay and Stern's talk they're gonna have later. But also I'll be keeping Stanley Stern for this fic and any sequels I make to it cause I'm attatched and dont wanna go change the names, but in any other stern content I post his name will be Joseph.


	14. One Little Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekly phone calls between Stern and Barclay are perfect for both of them: They get to hear each other's voices while Stern is away for UP, chat about their days, and Stern can't see the blood dripping down Barclay's forehead when he says that everything is going great at the lodge.
> 
> It's fine. Really. Everything is going just great. No need to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? I'm finally updating this after two months? Its more likely than you think!
> 
> But yeah, thank you all so much for your patience, between school and re-writing this chapter like three times, it took me a Hot Minute to get it out! A little refresher since its been a while, Stern has just left the Lodge to go back to work until he gets confirmation that his report on Kepler has been accepted. So yeah, I hope you all enjoy and this one takes place over a few different days, but starts on May the 16th

Since the Lodge opened for business, they have never once had a good response time in answering the phone. If they had a yelp page, at least half of the complaints would be along the lines of ‘I tried calling fourteen times and when somebody finally picked up and I asked if this was Amnesty Lodge, the young man on the other end just said ‘No this is Jake’ and then hung up.’

However, for once in Amnesty Lodge’s history, that terrible response time has really been turned around, all in thanks to Barclay.

He could be in the middle of kneading dough, hands covered in flour, and yet he’ll still answer the phone before anybody else can even think of getting up. Unfortunately, the one person Barclay wants to be on the other end never is. In fact, the majority of the calls have been people attempting to get a hold of the Adult Entertainment store in town and have been very confused when Barclay tells them with draining patience that he has no idea what their talking about.

Finally, Barclay decides that enough is enough. Too many people are calling the lodge trying to get this damn store for it to just be a misdial. There must be a website or newspaper ad with a misprinted number and Barclay’s going to get to the bottom of it because he’s not missing a call from Stern letting Barclay know he didn’t crash his car on the side of the I-70 because some Kepler citizen is bored and lonely or wants to ‘add a little cardamom to the bedroom if you know what I mean’ as one particularly insistent man had put it.

It’s as Barclay opens the door to the lodge after very politely telling the workers down at said store about the number mixup, does he see Jake on the phone in the lobby and he feels his heart jump.

“That Stanley?” Barclay whispers, hoping beyond hope the answer is yes. It’s been a few days since he left the lodge and Barclay would’ve thought that Stern had made it to Utah by now and he did promise to call once he got there.

Holding up a finger, Jake brings the phone back up to his mouth. “So yeah, as I was saying- Two large pizzas, double pineapple on one, olives on the other and-”

At these words, Barclay immediately deflates and begins to walk away. Maybe he should call Stern? But what if he’s driving? What if he crashes what if-

“Hey Barclay, I was just kiddin’, it’s Stanley.” Jake calls after him and Barclay whips around to see him holding out the phone, grinning.

“That wasn’t funny,” Barclay says as he takes the phone, but he still can’t stop himself smiling. Jake just gives him a thumbs up and heads off.

“So I hear that I’m a pizza delivery man now,” Stern’s voice comes out grainy over the phone but Barclay couldn’t care less. “An odd career move if I’m being honest, but if it means I’ll get to come back to Kepler sooner, can’t say I’d complain.”

“You know I should’ve known Jake was messing with me. He’d never even look at a pizza if it had olives on it.”

“But he’s alright with pineapple on pizza?”

“Hey pineapple on pizza is pretty good! The sweetness cuts through the salt, adds to the flavor and all that.”

“Mmmm, I know you’re the best chef I’ve ever met, but this time you’re wrong.”

Barclay grins. “Oh am I?” 

“Indeed. And I should know. I’m currently eating takeout Chinese food in a motel in Utah, so I would say I know about good food.”

Barclay starts twisting the phone cord around his finger absentmindedly. “So you got there okay?”

“Yes. Took a bit longer than expected, but I’ve been ah, really enjoying myself. The audiobooks have been excellent and I’ve yet to be in a motel that wasn’t just lovely. I’ve been able to visit some truly fascinating towns too. I’ve forgotten how enjoyable the open road is.”

Barclay lets out a small “huh” that he’s not sure Stern hears. While he won’t admit it, he’s pretty surprised that things are going so well for Stern. Don’t get him wrong, he’s beyond happy for him. Often times over the past few days, his mind had wandered to how Stern must be doing, whether he’s eating well and resting and just overall happy. So the fact that he seems to be getting back into the groove of things is a weight off Barclay’s shoulders. 

They go back and forth for a bit, Stern recounting any odd sights he passed by on the way to Utah, Barclay relaying the new merchandise Ned’s getting in his shop. As they talk, Barclay eventually gets to how he’s fixed the washing machine and a question pops up in his mind.

“Hey, I was wondering something? Back on that first day, when I came in to the laundromat while you were doing laundry, you asked why I wasn’t using the Lodge laundry machines.”

Stern lets out a little noise. “I vaguely remember that, it was so long ago though.”

“Well I was thinking, if you didn’t know it was broken yet, why were you doing laundry at the laundromat? We told you that you could use our machines when you first moved in, didn’t we?”

Stern goes silent on the other end of the phone and all Barclay can hear is occasional crackling until suddenly, the receiver is filled with the sound of quiet laughing. “Oh I had nearly forgotten about that. Ah well, okay so this is going to sound embarrassing.”

“Well now you’ve got to tell me. Piqued my curiosity and all.”

“Alright, alright,” Another laugh. “So do you remember back in October when the hot springs were out of commission? Well although I know now what I happened, at the time I convinced myself that I had somehow broken the hot springs.”

“Oh no,” Barclay says through his laughter. “How would you even break a hot spring? It’s naturally occuring!”

“I know, I know, but look at it from my perspective! I got in the hot spring, Jake tried showing me that he could hold his breath for fifteen minutes at a time, I got out of said hot springs, and then the next thing I knew no one could use it.”

“You’re forgetting the part where we all ran past yelling about coyotes.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget that great lie.” He can’t know for certain, but Barclay can just imagine Stern giving him a wry smile through the phone. “Anyways, I thought that if I somehow managed to break a hot spring by just sitting it, actively using your washing machine would cause it to surely combust knowing my luck and I’d get kicked out, so I decided to play it safe and use the laundromat instead.”

“Well, all worked out in the end, huh?”

“Oh certainly.”

And if dinner comes a bit later than usual that night for how long Barclay and Stern talk on the phone, no one mentions it. 

 

* * *

  **J** **une 30th**

The very few times that Barclay’s been to a beach, he’s come away with the impression that those who say they like beaches are a bunch of liars. Salt water always gets up his nose, the seagulls always insist on pilfering the food he worked so hard on, and _the sand_ \- God the sand was the absolute worst. It always seemed like for weeks afterwards he’d be finding sand all in his fur! Over all, just a terrible experience.

So that’s why, when the new abomination crept into Kepler just as the full moon crept onto the horizon and it was _entirely made of fucking sand,_ Barclay knew that the week was going to be miserable. Still he would’ve rather dealt with a sand monster than the glass monstrosity it turned into. Because apparently, that whole thing about sand turning to glass under heat wasn’t complete bullshit and Barclay has long jagged cuts up his side and some missing fur to prove it. 

They killed it. They always do, but that doesn’t stop the ache in his feet travelling up his legs with every step he takes back to the lodge, blood still welling up from his injuries. And although he wishes that with the final strike they took against the abomination they would get a moment to rest, it doesn’t. There is a worry amongst the pine guard that some townsfolk might’ve caught a glimpse of the abomination and if they don’t deal with that soon, that glimpse might bring the gaze of the FBI back upon them.

God he doesn't even want to think of what that will mean for all of them.

As he crosses through the front door of Amnesty, Aubrey close behind him, the first thing he sees through half-closed lids is Mama leaning against the wall as she talks into the phone.

“You wanna loose a finger? Cause I’m tellin’ you, that’s gonna be how you loose a finger. I mean, c’mon, it’s got ‘iron’ in the name, you think that’s gonna be easy to car-” Mama pauses when she spies Barclay across the room, before nodding for him to come over. “Hey Stanley, gonna have to continue this later. Here’s Barclay for you.”

She passes him the phone, just giving him a little smile and a shrug when he mouths 'losing fingers?’.  He doesn’t have long to think about it though, as he brings up the phone and smiles as he says, “Should I ask why you’re in danger of cutting off your fingers?”

A breathy laugh greets him. “I was just ah, trying out my cooking skills on the road and it wasn’t going too well. I would’ve asked you but Mrs. Co- Mama, wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”

“She help you figure it out?”

“Yes, and if by chance I happen to come back with a few less fingers than I left with, it is completely unrelated.”

Barclay smiles and he wishes Stern could see it. “Of course.”

“But enough about me- The abomination came this week, didn’t it? How did it go? Is everyone alright?”

A drop of blood tracks down his face and drips quietly to the floor.

“Oh it’s uh- It went great. Everything here is great. One of the easier abominations if I’m being honest.”

Across the room, Aubrey shoots him an odd look as Dani pauses from bandaging her hand. Ned, who just walked in and is leaning on his cane more than usual, stage whispers “I’d like to book a room in whatever reality our friend Barclay’s staying at the moment because it’s not this one certainly.”

“Yeah,” he continues on despite his friends curious looks. “Actually just killed it, big sand monster that turned into glass, nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Really? That’s great to hear! I had been so worried all week, I should have known that you would all have it handled.”

Barclay brushes a hand through his beard only to immediately hiss at a quick sharp pain on his palm. Looking down, he sees a small cut with blood coming up to greet him. Guess he’s still got some glass left on him.

“Don’t worry about us, you’ve got enough on your plate. Speaking of, how’s all that going? You’re in- Georgia right?”

“Texas actually. Just arrived yesterday. “

“Lot’s of Bigfoot sightings in Texas then? Don’t remember spending much time that far south.”

Stern laughs. “While there are some, I’m actually here investigating Old Alton Bridge, colloquially known as the Goatman’s Bridge. There were recent sightings that UP deemed credible enough to investigate.”

Barclay knows of the tale and for a moment allows himself to think of Vincent terrorizing some bridge in Texas and has to laugh. “You found him yet?”

He hears a sigh from the phone. “A lesser reported fact about Old Alton Bridge is that it is less than ten miles from two seperate universities. The only things out in these woods are college students escaping their dorms to come get high and drink.”

“So no Goatman?”

“So no Goatman.” Stern shuffles with something on the other end of the phone. “The one highlight of this trip though is that there’s a rather good ice cream shop in town. Best pistachio ice cream I’ve ever had.”

“Whoa hold on a second, you actually like pistachio ice cream? Stanley that’s objectively the worst flavor.”

“You’ve obviously never had bubblegum ice cream.”

“I would take bubblegum over pistacho any day, I mean-” Barclay nearly laughs. “I don’t know if I can kiss a man who’s let pistachio ice cream pass his lips.”

Stern actually does crack and laugh at that. “That’s rich coming from the man who puts mayonnaise in his chocolate cake!”

“I told you, mayonnaise is just egg and oil! It makes the cake richer!”

At that, Barclay gets a disbelieving “Mmmhmm,” letting him know that this faux-argument has not been won. Deciding to forfeit, he says, “How bout when you come back, I’ll try pistachio ice cream if you give my mayo cake a shot?”

“Hmm, you drive a hard bargain, but that sounds equitable to me.”

The smile is so evident in Stern’s voice that it distracts Barclay from the way his arm starts to tremble as he holds up the phone. 

The fight had been long. 

Too long.

They continue talking for some time, Barclay coloring a beautiful pink over his words as he paints a picture that _everything’s great at the lodge, no really, it’s all going great_ , _don’t even worry about it._

Eventually though, they both say goodnight, Stern promising to call again next week, and Barclay is left standing in the lobby as Dani, Aubrey and Ned look on.

“Say Barclay, did you happen to take Indrid’s glasses?” Ned calls over. “Because from our vantage point, it seems like you might be looking at the situation through some ah, _rose-colored lenses_ as it were.”

Sighing, Barclay puts the phone back on the hook, not even having the energy to wince when he sees the smear of blood he left on it. He’ll clean that up later. “Look, I- I know alright. I _know_.”

Dani raises an eyebrow. “Stern can’t say the same. From the way you put it, he must think everything here’s just great and you know-” She nods at where she is meticulously picking glass out of Aubrey’s hair with a pair of gardening gloves. “That’s uhhh, certainly one way to put it.”

“It’s just- I know Stanley, and I know if I tell him how, well how terrible things are at the moment if I’m being honest, _he’ll_ feel terrible. He’ll be upset that he isn’t here to help, definitely worried and just, I don’t know. He’s got enough on his plate at the moment, I don’t want to make things worse when there’s nothing he can do about any of this.”

“Still, I think he’d wanna know, like-” Aubrey tries to keep her head still as she shrugs. “Yeah he might not be able to do much halfway across the country, but I bet he’d still want to know how you’re really doing.”

“And wouldn’t you like to be kept in the know if your dear Stanley was having a less than ideal time? Say he was the victim of a loch ness monster attack perhaps?” Ned pauses to pick a piece of glass out of his beard. “You’d like to know even if you couldn’t help.”

Barclay shoulders sag but before he can say anything, Aubrey pipes up. “Wait is the loch ness monster a sylph?”

“I don’t think so, wasn’t the first sighting of the Loch Ness monster in the sixth century?” Dani asks.

“Ooh call Stern back, I bet he’ll know!”

“Now _I’ve_ heard word that the beast of the loch is in reality just eels!”

“What like a bunch of eels or just one big eel?” Aubrey tries to sit up but is gently coaxed back down by Dani. “Wait what would you all even do if fish crossed over the gate? Are the guards issued buckets of water or something?”

Barclay, who has just been standing there, manages out a quiet, “What?” which draws the other’s attention back to him. 

“Oh heh, sorry Barclay,” Aubrey says. “But yeah, you gotta tell him the truth, he’ll want to know.”

Barclay sighs and another drop of blood drips down his face and onto his shirt. He won’t be able to wear Stern’s sweatshirt to bed tonight.  “You’re right.”

“I am.”

“And _I_ have a head wound!” Ned manages to sound boastful as inspects his hand now covered in blood after he touched the back of his head. “So I bid you all goodnight as I think I’ll go sleep this off.”

He doesn’t make it two steps before Barclay blocks his path. “You’re not sleeping off a head wound, Ned! Sit back down!”

The conversation devolves into checking to make sure Ned ‘Never had a concussion’ Chicane doesn’t have a concussion. However in the back of Barclay’s head, he’s thinking about how he’ll tell Stern that things might be a smidge worse at Amnesty than he had been letting on.

By the end of the night, he doesn’t have an answer, but he’s sure he’ll come up with one in time for next week's phone call.

Hopefully.

* * *

**July 3rd**

Despite his large frame, Barclay can be quiet when he wants to. There were too many times where a branch crushed underfoot or a too loud footfall could have given him away to particular persistent Bigfoot hunters, and so he learned very early on how to move without making much of a sound at all. All of which comes very much in handy as he makes his way through the lobby just as the clock barely brushes six in the morning.

Usually, Barclay would still be sleeping, but today found him rising even before the sun. He still feels awful about lying to Stern and that on top of all the shit they’ve still been dealing with at the lodge has made getting a restful nights sleep a bit harder than usual.

As he pads across the lobby, already imagining how much a nice cup of coffee will clear his head (or at least stave off the ache in his muscles for a few hours), he’s startled out of his morning fog by the shrill call of the lobby telephone ringing.

Only hesitating for a moment, Barclay quickly makes his way over to the phone. It’s probably not Stern since he only calls once a week, but Barclay still wants to pick it up as fast as possible as to not wake the other residents. Fumbling with the phone for a moment, Barclay finally answers. “Thanks for calling Amnesty Lodge, this is Barclay. What can I-” He yawns despite attempts to keep it down. “What can I help you with?”

For a moment, all Barclay hears is silence and he’s about to hang up before the other person speaks. “Oh ah, sorry. It’s just me. Stanley. Good morning.”

Stern’s words come out odd and stilted, immediately setting Barclay on edge. “Stanley, hey, everything alright?”

A single long breath echoes over the phone, but nothing more.

“Stanl-”

“I apologise I shouldn’t have called so early,” Stern interrupts, voice tight and fast. “I’ll call back later.” Barclay hears him fumble with the phone and he knows he has maybe five seconds before Stern hangs up.

Definitely not how he saw this morning going.

“Whoa, whoa- It’s fine! I was up anyways. Just kinda surprised is all. It’s what-” Barclay glances to the clock. “Five in the morning in Texas?”

Stern is silent for a beat too long. “It is.”

Well if that was supposed to be reassuring or believable, it was neither. “Stanley?” Barclay draws out his name, trying not to let the worry creep in. “Are you alright?”

He hears a sigh. “It’s just- Well I’m not in Texas anymore. I arrived in California last night.”

“California? How long were you driving for?”

Stern shuffles with something on the other end. “All together, about twenty-two hours. Don’t worry though, I split it up over the past two days,” he quickly adds on. 

Running a hand through his beard, Barclay worries despite Stern’s insistence. He glances again at the clock, already feeling that this is going to be a long day. And then, he glances once more at the hour hand as he does some quick mental math. “Wait a second, is it _three in the morning_ where you are right now?”

“ . . .  Perhaps.”

“Stanley, is everything alright? FBI didn’t figure us out, did they?”

“No, no, no,” Stern assures, somehow managing to sound even more panicked. “I ah, I just- I may have been . . . Over exaggerating how pleasant of a time I have been having. And I-” Stern sighs and with that single breath, the collected persona he had been wearing for so long with barely a wrinkle suddenly crumples at his feet. “Barclay I’ve been having a miserable time.”

“But, I thought you said-”

“I know, I know I said I was having a great time, that the open road is great, that all the towns are wonderful, but well, I lied. And I feel terrible about it, but I didn’t want to worry you, and I felt selfish complaining. I mean, this is exactly what I was doing before I came to Amnesty, it’s not like I’m not used to it. It felt like complaining about my problems while you all are fighting actual monsters without complaint, well it seemed . . .  _Pathetic_.”

And just like, all the times Barclay wished Stern was there with him coalesse into a single feeling that threatens to burst through his chest.

“Stanley . . .”

“I should have told you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” And Barclay hopes Stern can tell he means it. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk about your problems with me. It’s not selfish or pathetic. We’re all going through different things and you uh, you know, you should feel free to talk about them even if you think someone else has it worse.”

“You’re right,” Stern replies, voice already sounding lighter than before. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Welcome.” Barclay smiles, and then realises that it’s his turn to tell the truth. “Also uh, on the subject . . .” he takes a deep breath and starts looping the phone cord around his finger. “Things aren’t going so great here either . . .”

Barclay can’t begin to imagine what Stern looks like at that moment. Maybe he’s sitting in his car as fluorescent lights illuminate the bags under his eyes. Or he might be pacing in his motel room, kept awake by noisy neighbors and worries about whether his report will be accepted. However, when Stern murmurs out a quiet, “What?” Barclay can perfectly picture how his eyes must be narrowing, head tilting a touch to the right.

“Yeah last abomination fight, well it didn’t go so great. We’re all fine, but they’re . . . I don’t know Stanley, it feels like they’re getting stronger. I just, I felt like bringing it up would just worry you and you’ve got enough to deal with as it is, no need to go adding on to that. Or at least, that’s what I thought. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Barclay takes a breath. “Seems like we both need to work on not sugar-coating things, huh?”

This earns him a small chuckle. “Yes, I think we do. How about this? We both promise to let each other know when things aren’t going well.”

“Sounds good to me. Bet you haven’t had the chance to vent to since you left, huh?”

“Does sending passive-aggressive emails to Agent Haynes count as venting?”

“Hmm, gonna have to go with no on that one.”

They both laugh.

They both sound tired.

_They both are so very tired._

“So,” Barclay starts once the silent returns. “Tell me all the terrible things you’ve been putting up with, I want to hear them all.”

“Well let’s see . . .” Stern pauses for a few moments. “I’ve gotten food poisoning three seperate times and in one town I went to, a witness I was trying to interview accused me of printing my FBI badge at Kinkos, where would you like me to start?”

And that’s how they end up talking for the next two hours about all the terrible things they’ve dealt with over the past month. Barclay talks about the abomination, the fears of discovery, and the man who threatened to ‘call corporate’ and complain because the lodge was out of apple pie. And sure, neither of them can fix the other’s problems, but Barclay swears he feels a weight lift off him by just telling Stern what he’s been going through.

“Oh and Barclay?” Stern says just before he hangs up the phone. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

And Barclay can’t help but hope that out of everything, this particular problem will be solved very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end folks! Just one more chapter and I can't wait for you all to read it! I definetly won't make you all wait another two months for the update, and my goal is to get it out before the new season of TAZ starts (im so excited yall)
> 
> This chapter went through so many iterations (including one where Agent Haynes busted onto the scene) but in the end I wanted to keep things simple and not throw any last minute curve balls before the final chapter, and I'm really happy with how it all turned out. Thank you all again for reading and commenting, the reaction to this fic has been incredible and I'm so thankful to you all!


	15. Zero Reasons To Be Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At one point, Barclay could barely stand the thought of making it through a single laundry day with Agent Stern.
> 
> Now, Barclay can barely stand the thought of going one more day without telling Stern he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it.
> 
> The final chapter.
> 
> Fair warning, it is extremely sappy but after all the sadness and angst, I think we deserve some sap.
> 
> This one takes place August the 10th.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy and thank you all for reading this. It's been such a pleasure writing this and reading your responses to this fic have been amazing. Thank you all!

As Barclay brings the rhubarb crumble out to the desserts table, the warm August air brushing his neck, he shoots one last hopeful look at the front door before joining the others out back of the lodge.

Three months. Three whole months Stern’s been gone and with each day, Barclay hoping that _this_ would be the day he comes back, disappointment takes him just as the night takes the day. And now, the Festival of Fallen Stars is here.

But Stern is not.

Don’t get him wrong, Barclay is still excited to celebrate with the lodge- He’s been baking non-stop for the past three days, he deserves to be excited. However, as he looks across the party, he still wishes there was one more guest in attendance.

“Lot’s changed, huh?”

Barclay won’t admit that he jumps at the sound of Mama’s voice suddenly behind him, but by the smirk evident on her face when he turns around, she saw it anyways.

“What?”

“Just sayin’ that a lot’s changed ‘round here.” Mama pauses to pour herself a glass of lemonade. “You know that it’ll be two weeks today til the one year anniversary of Aubrey, Ned and Duck stumblin’ upon the gate?”

Barclay blinks. “Really? Doesn’t feel like it’s been a year, does it?”

“Nope,” Mama replies with a pop as she makes her way over to an empty table, Barclay following close behind. “And I’m no liar, I’ll admit there were times where I had to wonder if we made the right choice bringing ‘em into all this. I mean, befriending an abomination?” She shakes her head, a wry chuckle barely heard over the party. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that one up. But, it all worked out? Didn’t it? I mean, just look at ‘em all.”

And Barclay does look at them all. He looks out at the lodge residents laughing and smiling beneath the string lights they’ve hung up. He watches as Dani teaches Aubrey the steps to a traditional dance from Sylvain, the flowers in Aubrey’s hair bouncing every time she throws her head back to laugh at some joke or other Dani tells. He just catches Ned’s arms spread wide as he tells some tale to a group of gathered sylphs, the details of which are surely embellished but by the wide smiles on their faces and the occasional gasp from Jake, make it better all the same. Barclay also gets a glimpse of Duck and Indrid chatting as they dip their feet in the hot springs, Indrid tapping the beat of the song Moira is playing on the piano with one hand as the other rests on top of Duck’s.

It’s one of the best things Barclay’s seen in quite some time.

“I mean, even if Indrid himself had told me this time last year that this is what the future held, I woulda told him to get those glasses of his checked out.” Mama smiles and gives a little wave to some of the sylphs running by. “‘Specially if he told me I’d actually be hoping an FBI agent shows up.”

At this, Barclay can’t help but laugh. “Tell me about it. When Stanley first showed up here, really thought we were in for it. Remember when I told you that we had an FBI agent living at the lodge?”

“Hard to forget. Thought that the docs down at Saint Francis must’ve missed a concussion or something cause there was no way in Hell I was gonna believe that we had a Bigfoot hunter livin’ under our roof.” She pauses, nodding at someone behind him before continuing on. “I ever tell you that I looked into how we could kick him out? Thought about raisin’ his room price or turning off his hot water to send him runnin’.”

Barclay takes a moment to think back to their first laundry day, Stern coming to movie night in a full suit, the two of them clinging for dear life on the ski lifts, baking cakes together, their first kiss . . .

“Glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They sit there in silence for a moment as the song Moira is playing on the piano behind Barclay comes to an end. 

“Guessin’ Stanley didn’t say whether he’d be back today, huh?”

Watching a flock of birds fly over the lodge, Barclay takes a moment to respond. “No, when I talked to him last week, he was headed to Nevada. Don’t actually know where he is at the moment.”

“Shame.”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. Even if he doesn’t come back for months, I’ll just be glad to have him back, you know?”

Mama gets a look in her eye that Barclay couldn’t describe if he had hours. “Yeah. I know the feelin’.”

And as Barclay opens his mouth to ask if Mama wants more lemonade, he hears something that stops him dead . . .

 

_He hears the unmistakable sound of someone playing ‘Take A Chance On Me’ at the piano._

 

Turning around, Barclay feels like he’s moving too slow as the world spins by too fast around him and it’s as he speeds up and the Earth beneath him so kindly slows down to meet him that he sees _him_.

Stern is at the piano, fingers flying over the keys, his chest moving back and forth as he plays, and most importantly, his eyes locking with Barclay’s as he smiles at him so beautiful and so bright.

Barclay doesn’t register getting up from the table, just suddenly finds himself moving through the party on auto-pilot towards Stern. Behind him, he faintly hears Mama say “Oh thank god, didn’t know how much longer I could keep him distracted.” However, he doesn’t pay it much mind as he draws closer and closer to Stern. His hair’s a bit longer, shirt wrinkled and no matter how bright his eyes are, Barclay can still see bags underneath them.

But none of that matters as the song abruptly stops, replaced with Stern’s laughter as he is swept up in Barclay’s arms.

“You’re back,” Barclay marvels half in disbelief as he stares into Stern’s deep brown eyes, not sure if he should whisper it like its their own little secret or scream it from the top of his lungs for everyone to hear. Either way, he knows a smile is spreading across his face, a matching one on Stern’s.

“Surprise,” Stern manages to get out, slightly breathless.

And while Barclay could spend a few seconds coming up with some witty retort, why would he when he would much rather use those moments to kiss Stern for the first time in three months. As their lips press together, Barclay can taste the cheap gas station coffee with lethal levels of creamer, feel the little indents where Stern worries at his lip and smell the lavender on Stern’s clothes that he’s missed so much. He wants to memorize every slide of their lips and every grip of Stern’s hands on his shirt as if it will be their last, like Stern will disappear across the country as soon as Barclay opens his eyes.

But like all good things, their kiss must come to an end. 

As they finally break from the kiss, Barclay contemplating going back in for round two, he realises that they have a lot of eyes on them and he lets out a cough as red surely rises on his cheeks. “Want something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Stern also takes a moment to glance around at how much attention they’ve drawn, eyes going slightly wide. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

The two of them walk over to the food tables, Stern waving and saying hello to those who come by to welcome him back. Finally though, the two of them find a table, Stern’s plate stacked high with food.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been craving your cooking,” Stern says as he eyes over what to eat first, the two of them slipping back into normalcy so fast it almost makes Barclay’s head spin. “If I had to suffer through one more meal of rubbery scrambled eggs and burnt toast, I was going to loose my mind. Even the best of what they had to offer didn’t stand up against your food.”

Barclay can’t help but preen at the praise. “Thanks.” And although he’d be perfectly content with just sitting there under the last rays of light talking about nothing at all, something does press on his mind. “So . . . Your back? I mean, back for good? This isn’t some quick pit stop before you go, I don’t know, investigate aliens in New York or something?”

Swallowing quickly, Stern takes a second before replying. “No, I’m back for good. In fact,” He pauses and pulls aside his suit jacket to show his hip noticeably empty of his usual FBI badge. “I’m officially a civilian now. My resignation went through two days ago. I ah, well I wanted to surprise you, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it in time for the Festival, so I didn’t want to get your hopes up just in case. But yes, you’re stuck with me now.”

Barclay laughs and nudges Stern in the side. “I can think up worse things than being stuck with you.” And as they both laugh, a thought strikes Barclay. “Wait, this mean that the case on Kepler is closed?”

Instead of replying, Stern rifles through his pockets before pulling out an envelope. 

“What’s this?”

“The official final verdict on Kepler,” Stern replies easily as he readjusts his suit jacket. “The short version essentially boils down to ‘Kepler may be an odd town, but there is no evidence of supernatural phenomenon in the area’ as my superiors phrased it.”

Barclay looks up from the envelope. “So we’re off UP’s radar?”

“As far as they’re concerned, Kepler and Amnesty Lodge don’t even exist.”

“Well, looks like we’ve got another reason to celebrate, huh?”

And that’s how the two of them end up going around and giving everyone the good news. The change in the mood of the party is instantaneous and electric- A spark which flits from sylph to sylph until everyone is up dancing or laughing or just revelling in the West Virginia air.

“So . . .” Barclay starts as they look across the party. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous. He’s fairly certain that Stern will say yes if he asks him to dance, but there’s still than underlying current of nerves. When he was younger and still on Sylvain, he imagined with barely contained excitement of one day asking someone to dance with him at the Festival of Fallen Stars. Sure, when he pictured it, he was on Sylvain and not banished to Earth, and usually his daydreams involved him and the cute boy, Shane Firenight, from his class dancing together, not a human- An alien really.

Not often that reality turns out better than dreams.

Barclay takes a breath. “Would you like to dance with me?”

And then Stern smiles a smile that Barclay’s been thinking about at least once a day over these last three months. “I can’t promise I won’t step on your feet."

Shurgging, Barclay offers his hand which Stern takes without hesitation. “Can’t blame you if you do. They are pretty big targets.” 

With that, the two of them find their way out onto the makeshift dance floor just as the song Moira is playing comes to a close.

“You’re leading, correct?” Stern asks as he glances around the dance floor at the other sylphs. “Because I highly doubt there’s going to be much crossover between Earth and Sylvain dances. And even if there was, I wouldn’t count myself in the pool of people adept at Earth dances either.”

“Don’t worry, just follow my lead. There are some pretty complicated dances, but I’m thinking Moira will probably stick to the simpler ones for your first.” And as the first few notes float through the air over to him, Barclay smiles as he’s proven right. His hand finds its way to Stern’s hip, the other gently intertwining his fingers with Stern’s. “Ready?”

“Hopefully.”

Then, there’s nothing left to do but to start slowly stepping backwards in time to the music, Stern moving with him with every step. Barclay does his best to remember the moves, spinning the two of them around as the other dancers do the same, watching the string lights turn to nothing but blurs in the corner of his eye. And maybe in some perfect world, Stern and Barclay would be dancing perfectly with each other, neither missing a step, two parts of a whole and each knowing the other so well that they can anticipate the other’s steps before they even make it.

It’s not a perfect world though.

Barclay forgets some of the steps, Stern does accidentally step on Barclay’s feet, and they even unfortunately bump into Aubrey and Dani, who by this point in the night have got the dancing down pat. But here’s the thing though, those fumbles and missteps that are inevitable in an imperfect world, they make the dance _perfect_.

“I think the other dancers are about to mutiny if we bump into them one more time,” Stern barely gets out through his laughter. 

For his part, Barclay tries to muffle his own laughter by smothering his face in Stern’s shirt. “Could be worse.”

“How? By actively tackling them to the ground?”

Another laugh. Another misstep. “Least we’re trying.”

“Oh we should certainly get points for the attempt.” Stern nods, but Barclay can’t be sure that it wasn’t just a way to sneakily glance down at his feet as they move across the dance floor. 

Barclay can tell the song is about to come to a close, so he decides to take a chance. Making sure his grip on Stern is tight, Barclay shifts his stance and leads Stern into a dip. And even though Stern stands taller than Barclay and the whole thing could have easily ended with Stern on the ground with grass stains over his pants, the planets align for that one moment, and the two of them find themselves face to face, surrounded by the soft, warm glow of the lights, listening to the last notes of Moira’s song fade away and the cricket’s song taking up the melody, Stern dipped low to the ground, completely trusting Barclay to keep him from falling.

This time when they kiss, it’s not the desperate act of two people fueled by longing and distance, but something far more chaste, something that doesn’t need to be any more than it is because both Barclay and Stern know they have all the time in the world.

Finally, Barclay pulls him up from the dip, the two of them smiling like they couldn’t stop if they tried. They decide to move off the dance floor, both of them needing a break before they attempt that again.

“Ah, Barclay?” Stern starts as they make their way to the edge of the party where the only sylphs are the few watching Dr. Harris Bonkers as he hops around the grass. Adjusting his glasses, Stern seems dedicated to looking anywhere but Barclay. “I- Well I have a gift for you.” And before Barclay can respond, Stern quickly reaches into his jacket pocket. “You mentioned on our first date- Well you said it was our third date if I wanted it to be, but it really was our first-” He takes a breath. “Anyways, you mentioned a tradition from Sylvain, and well . . .”

Sitting in Stern’s hand is a small hand carved wooden heart.

“I’ve never done any woodcarving before, so I had to seek out Mama for advice on how to do it. This one is actually my fifth attempt,” He lets out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he does so. “I ah, well. I hope you like it.”

Silently and gingerly, Barclay takes the heart from Stern’s hands. His fingers slowly slide across the wood, noting the indents and scrapes from where Stern chipped away at it. As he turns it over, his eyes go wide when he sees what’s engraved in the heart’s face.

It’s his name. His name written in his native tounge from Sylvain.

“How . . .” He tears his eyes away from the heart to look at Stern. “How did you do this?”

“Ah yes, I asked Jake if he would describe the characters to me over the phone. Is it- Do you like it?”

“Stanley . . .” Barclay feels almost overwhelmed by the warmth blooming in his chest. He imagines for a moment Stern in some shitty motel, painstakingly carving this heart til his fingers were sore and eyes tired, but continuing on anyways. “Stanley it's incredible.”

“Oh good,” The tension visibly leaves Stern’s shoulders. “I won’t say I’ve been anxious about giving you this, but . . .”

“But?”

“ . . . But yes I was very anxious about giving you this.”

Barclay smiles and just as he prepares himself to say the words that he’s been waiting to say for months, he notices the whispers of “Holy shit Stanley made Barclay a heart” and “Told y’all when he moved in that he was a good one” and most alarmingly “No you didn’t Theo! You said we should get him lost in the woods!” from some of the nearby sylphs.

Alright maybe some privacy is in order.

“Hey, I actually got a gift for you too, didn’t know when you’d be back so I haven’t wrapped it yet or anything, but uh,” He gestures off towards the Lodge. “It’s up in my room, you okay with leaving the party for a bit?”

Nodding, Stern takes his hand and the two of them start weaving their way towards the Lodge.

“Hey,” Mama calls out to them as they reach the door. “Meteor showers gonna be startin’ soon, don’t want y’all missin’ it.”

“Won’t be gone long, “ Barclay assures her before they go inside. They make it to Barclay’s room despite Stern wanting to stop and look at all the new paintings Dani has hung up in the hallways. Luckily when they do enter, Stern is distracted enough that Barclay can go retrieve the gift and at least attempt to hide it behind his back.

“Oh, my plant,” Stern says as he walks over to where it’s sat on Barclay’s dresser. “Thank you so much for taking care of it.”

Walking over to him, Barclay keeps his hands behind his back as he says, “Yeah I felt like a paranoid first-time parent with that thing. Can’t count the number of times I went to Dani cause I thought something was wrong with it.” Then, before he can second-guess himself, Barclay brings out the rolled up parchment from behind his back and offers it to Stern. “It’s well- Well you’ll see.”

And then very carefully, Stern unrolls the thick paper and Barclay watches his eyes go wide as he scans it over. He opens his mouth, but no sounds come out for a good few seconds. “Did you make this?”

Nodding, Barclay gestures over to his desk with all his cartography supplies on it. “First map I’ve made in some time, but I uh, I wanted to give it a swing for you.”

The map itself is a representation of Kepler with all the landmarks that you would expect to find on a regular map, but with a few thrown in like the Laundromat and where they had their first date that would only mean something for the two of them. It’s a far more artistic map than Barclay used to make, with things scaled up or down depending on how they looked, and the forests scattered with little depictions of Bigfoot, the Jersey Devil and other cryptids Barclay knows Stern is interested in. There’s even a little Loch Ness Monster in the river.

Stern is still silent as he looks over the map and Barclay feels the need to fill the silence. “I just thought- Well, now that you don’t have to be on the road, now that Kepler is officially your home, you won’t need all the maps you were using before. Just need the one now and-”

And whatever Barclay was going to say next is cut off by Stern pulling him into the tightest embrace, while still being careful to not crumple the map. “Barclay it’s perfect,” he whispers into the crook of his neck. Barclay hugs him back just as tightly. 

“I’m happy you like it.

“I’m going to have to get this framed,” Stern comments as they pull apart. “How long did it take you to make this? It’s so detailed!”

“Honestly, most time-consuming part was when I spilled coffee on my first go-round,” Barclay admits. “Made it look like half the mountain came crashing down on to town.”

They both laugh for a moment before a loud shout of “Oh it’s starting!” draws their attention to the sliding doors leading out to the balcony.

Barclay gestures to the doors. “Could stay up here for a bit? Watch the meteors from a higher vantage point?”

“That sounds perfect.”

They both set down their gifts before going out into the cooling night air, the stars winking down at them as the perfect backdrop for a perfect night. Below them, the residents of the Lodge lay out on blankets spread across the grass, gazing up at the sky that, although looks so different from the sky of Sylvain, is still the sky of their home. As Stern wraps an arm around Barclay’s waist, a shooting star steaks overhead.

“Wow,” Stern whispers out, so softly that Barclay can’t be sure he was even supposed to hear it.

Glancing away from the meteor shower, Barclay looks over at Stern’s face and watches as it lights up with awe and wonder at the night sky and in that moment, every single thing that has come before, every fumbled word or awkward silence, every laugh and smile, every revelation and fear and longing, it all comes together in what Barclay says next.

“Stanley?” He turns so that they’re fully facing one another. “Uh, once, I couldn’t imagine making it through twelve Sundays with you, but now, I can’t imagine a single day without you. And looking back on everything, I would’ve taken a baseball bat to the Lodge’s washing machines if I knew that it would mean that I’d end up here. With you. What I’m trying to say is, I-” He takes a deep breath. “ _I love you_.”

For a moment, all is silent.

Then in the span of a single shooting star passing overhead, Stern smiles and Barclay knows everything will be okay. “Barclay, I want you to know that when I set out to find Bigfoot, I certainly didn’t think it would lead me here. I never thought it would lead me to finding a home at Amnesty Lodge, never thought it would lead me to becoming friends with you all, never thought it would lead me to you. And at the time, I thought I didn’t want any of that. I thought I just wanted to be the one to find Bigfoot and that was all. Now I know better. But hey, maybe I was onto something. Because finding Bigfoot? Well I think that might be one of the best things to ever happen to me, because _I love you too_.”

And this time when they kiss, Barclay takes just a moment to think about not just waking up tomorrow morning to the smell of lavender and Stern in his arms, but to waking up like that every Sunday.

 

And every day in between.

 

And every day after that.

 

He’s spent these last twelve Sundays surviving without Stern, so they’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> I honestly can't believe Spin Dry on High has officially come to an end. This is by far the longest fic I've ever written and it's kinda wild that when I started writing this back in February, I was fully under the impression that sternclay was a ship that was never going to be canon, and now, just in time for this last chapter, Griffin comes out on TTAZZ and says that he had sternclay in mind from the begining.
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for your comments and kudos! The reaction to this fic had been incredible and know that every single one of your comments left a lasting smile on my face. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all like it so far! I don't have a set schedule for when I'll update this, but I'm hoping it won't be too far in between each chapter. This is looking like it will be around 14 chapters, but that could always change, so I'll keep y'all posted. Also because I decided to take the time to map it out, this first chapter takes place on February 24th. Is that important? No not really. Will I keep saying the dates for each chapter? Absolutely


End file.
